The Rewritten Note
by Victor Sandman
Summary: Two new individuals enter the Death Note story: an American student, and an English soldier, both bent on capturing Kira. How will they change the events of Death Note? Rated for some language. Read and Review!
1. Chapter 1

- Chapter 0 Introductions - So. I'm Ichirou Carson, age 20. I'm 5 feet 10 inches tall, with light skin, straight black hair that I wear in medium-length bangs, blue-gray eyes with slim glasses, and a medium-light build. I go to the University of Washington, where I study computer science and programming. My dad is German-American, and my mom is Japanese, and that's where I got my name. I speak both Japanese and German fluently, in addition to English of course. I love cantaloupe, watermelon, and every other sort of melon, as well as good, unsweetened green tea. I love gaming and technology, as you can tell from what I study. I'm also quite a fan of Death Note, and am vehemently anti-Kira. My favorite character is Soichiro Yagami. I was immediately attached to him when I first saw him in the anime, and I almost shed tears for him when he died believing Light wasn't Kira.

Hello there, my name is Hans Carson. I'm 49 years old. I'm a medic at Tokyo General Hospital, and Ichirou's father. My great-grandparents immigrated to the United States from Germany in the 1880s, and I was born in Sacramento, California, where I lived and went to college. That's where I met the love of my life: Satsuki Hikaru, an exchange student from Japan. We got married after graduation, and soon started a family. I was about 29 when Ichirou was born, and Satsuke was 25. He was the light of our lives. Soon afterwards, we moved to Tokyo, where I took a job as an EMT. I've since risen to the status of the best medic in Kanto. When Ichirou was 18, he decided to travel to Seattle, Washington to pursue his dream of becoming a programmer. He enrolled in University of Washington, and was a grade-A student. He's currently in his second year of university. I'm very proud of him.  
>Now, about myself. I might seem lighthearted and fun-loving; however, I am very serious when it is needed. I love traditional Japanese culture, wearing kimono at every opportunity. Our house doesn't have chairs; instead, we sit on tatami mats. Another quirk of mine is my penchant for wearing bright flower-patterned shirts. I am about six feet four, with a moderately heavy, slightly muscled build. I have wavy blonde hair, which reaches down my neck. My eyes are bright blue. I occasionally let a bit of stubble grow out, at least until Satsuki or Ichirou say that I look dirty. I am also a CQC expert, CQC being a form of hand-to-hand combat that is based on disarming the enemy at high speed, and rendering them unable to fight.<p>

Hi. My name's Satsuki Hikaru-Carson. I'm 45 years old, five feet three. I have straight black hair, which I tie back into a ponytail, dark brown eyes, and I wear slim glasses, which I push up on the ridge of my nose when I'm annoyed. I have something of a short temper, although Hans' mellow nature takes the edge off of it. I love reading and writing, so I work as a librarian. It's quite nice being surrounded by knowledge and stories, having the ability to just pick up any book off the shelf and start reading. I was born in Japan, and immigrated to the United States in a foriegn exchange student program. That's where I met Hans. He was a clumsy, jolly guy, and I fell in love with him, even though he seemed like an idiot. I later realized how much of a treasure he was. He may look stupid and irreverent, but he has a heart of gold. After we graduated, we eventually decided to get married. Shortly afterwards, I had my first son. We named him Ichirou. When he was about seven, we moved back to Tokyo, and Hans found himself a job as a medic. We've lived there ever since. Once Ichirou started going to college, I took a job in the library to help pay for his courses. It was a good job, and I loved being in that environment. So that's where we are now. Ichirou's decided to come over here for the summer, as he's about to finish his second year of college. He's a great student; quite intelligent. However, the problem with that is he gets bored easily.

I'm Soichiro Yagami, pleased to meet you. I'm the Chief of Police of Tokyo, as well as leader of the Kira Investigation. I'm six feet two, 250 pounds, smooth brown hair, brown eyes. I typically slick back my hair, and have a well-trimmed mustache. I always wear glasses, can't see very well without them. The numerous scars on my body are from my early years in the police force... the one on my right arm was a knife wound... there're some gunshot wounds on my legs... and vertically along my chest and torso, I have a katana slash. I still wonder sometimes how I lived through all that. Moving on. I was born in Tokyo in 1958. My parents were hardworking, honest citizens; we weren't well-off, nor were we poor. I joined the police force as soon as I finished college, and worked hard. Eventually, when I was 32, I married Sachiko, and we had Light, our son. About 4 years later, we had a daughter, Sayu.  
>Unfortunately, I've grown a bit distant from my family, due to the responsibilities entailed by being Chief of Police. I especially wish I could've spent more time with Light. He seems to have become so distant recently.<br>Enough of my rambling. As for my skills, I am a 6th Dan black-belt in the school of Shotokan Karate. It's the only certificate I have on my office wall. I train regularly with some of the younger officers to keep myself sharp.  
>Other than that, I have the standard skill set of any other police investigator. That includes picking locks, door-breach and room-check, squad command, and a high degree of weapons expertise. I clean and inspect many of my squad's weapons personally; the scent of weapon cleaning fluid in the offices typically means that I'm somewhere nearby. I don't shy away from physical work. If a squad's going out to make an arrest in a case I was working on, I'll be right there, wearing a Kevlar vest and looking down the sights of an MP5 with everyone else. Death isn't a prospect that creates fear in me. I've gotten used to it; working as a police investigator for more than 30 years has desensitized me somewhat to death.<p>

The name's Captain Johnathan Price, British Special Air Service, Mountain Troop. Call me Captain Price, for short. I'm 39 years old, five foot eleven. I have an athletic, muscular build, short, thinning light-brown hair, olive-green eyes, and a gray-brown beard. I almost always wear combat gear, even off-assignment. Charcoal lightweight military jacket, locale-specific camouflaged cargo pants, military load-bearing vest, and a camouflaged slouch hat is what my battle outfit consists of. Ross MacMillan, my Scottish commanding officer, nicknamed me "the English bear" because of my beard; I don't mind it, myself. I'm not currently married, nor do I plan to be anytime soon. The only individuals I have any emotional attachments to are MacMillan and the soldiers whom I command. We never go in with large attack forces; I prefer to do small, squad-based tactical missions, so I can get to know my men better and keep them at their peak condition. Don't take that the wrong way. I don't think of them as human weapons. They are my men, and I sure as hell care about every single one of them. If any one of them is injured, inside or outside of combat, I will take it as my full responsibility to see them through to their recovery. I would never consider asking one of them to do something I wouldn't do if I could; the only reason I request anything of them other than extra firepower is because I can't physically be in more than one spot at the same time, or if I don't have the prerequisite skill. If there's a risky task to be done, it'll be me who does it. Every single man I've commanded has trusted me 110%. It's been over five years now since one of my lads was killed. That's been true in joint ops as well. I've worked in counterterrorism operations, hostage rescues, battlefields, and stealth missions, and I pride myself on getting my men home safely. Whenever I work with someone new, I try to get to know them as closely as possible. Who they are, what do they care about, what pushes their buttons, their mental and physical strengths and weaknesses, the skills they specialize in. I need to know them inside out so I can know when they aren't at their best, what they can and can't do, how I should treat them.  
>In regards to civilians, I generally don't like interacting with them outside of hostage rescues. I'm somewhat confrontational. Most people don't really get on my bad side, but those who do will get a mouthful. I don't ever physically assault anyone, of course. Just a little shouting sets most people in line. There are very few civilians who can ever get on my good side. I'm actually a fairly decent listener, as long as the one speaking has something meaningful to say. Can't stand people who try to twist the truth. I don't like to talk much, myself. My primary skill is battlefield medic; I suppose it's only natural I decided to go for that specialization, considering how much I worry about my men's condition. I try to do the best with what equipment I have; so far, that method has served me well. My weapon of choice is a suppressed M1911 Custom pistol. Barring firearms, I have a complete mastery of CQC, and can use my combat knife to great effect. I pity whomever finds himself on the wrong side of my barrel; I have zero hesitation to fire upon anyone who attacks me or my squad. <p>


	2. Chapter 2

-  
>Chapter 1<br>Theme: Beat Crusaders-Tonight (Bleach opening no. 4)  
>Good Morning, Ichirou<p>beep. Beep. Beep! BEEP! BEEEEEEEEE...<br>*smack*  
>"Aaahh..."<br>Ichirou stretched and yawned as he smashed his alarm clock's snooze button in a desperate attempt at gaining some much-needed rest. Forget bad professors, alarm clocks were probably the most annoying things on Earth.  
>"Oh. My. God."<br>Ichirou sat up bolt straight when he realized that today was finals day, and he hadn't tested his 200-point programming assignment. This thing was worth half his grade.  
>"I am not gonna get a bad grade on this class just because of some lousy syntax error."<br>He jumped out of bed, sliding into his black mesh swivel-chair, and moved the mouse on his Thinkpad. The screen lit up, and Ichirou typed the password, clicking furiously at the icon for Visual Studio. As he mashed F5 on the keyboard, the dark-haired kid threw a pop-tart into the microwave, punching 5 then start on the microwave keypad. The young man pulled on cargo pants and buttoned his short-sleeved shirt, putting a fleece jacket and socks on over the whole combination. Ichirou combed his jet-black hair hurriedly, tossing the comb onto the bed. As he crunched on his instant sugar-filled breakfast, warning messages popped up continuously in the debug box. Groaning, Ichirou implemented a desperate, last-ditch effort to get the program to just bloody compile already.  
>(On Error Resume Next).<br>Yeah. Last-ditch indeed. The code would compile, all right. But would it run? With all errors being ignored, there was only one way to find out.

After class...  
>"Dude...how did you get your code to compile like that? You must be some kinda whiz!"<br>Ichirou smirked and told his classmate that it was just a stupid trick. And it was. Who in their right mind would skip merrily along, ignoring every error their program threw out as if it were a broken record? He would, if he was on a deadline to deliver a stupid assignment to a shallow professor who didn't care about anything except that the code compiled with no errors. That's who.  
>As Ichirou walked back to his dorm building, something black, slim and shiny caught his eyes. He looked a bit more closely, adjusting his glasses, and noticed it was a fairly nice leather-bound notebook, with the words "Death Note" embossed in silver on its cover.<br>"A Death Note, huh? Seems like someone's really into that anime." Ichirou mumbled to himself.  
>He flipped it open, and glanced at the rules. They looked just like the rules in the notebook from the anime. There were no names written, and no fake rules in the back flap.<br>"Huh. Probably some collectible notebook that someone dropped." Ichirou tucked it under his jacket, and continued walking towards his dorm room.  
>Finders-keepers was his attitude; as long as something wasn't really valuable (worth more than $25) or obviously someone's, he had no qualms about filching it. It was a useful stance to take when you were a college student on a slim budget. And this notebook was no exception to the rule.<br>As Ichirou swung open the door to his room, he grumbled as he remembered all the cleaning he'd have to do. The wastebasket was overflowing with crumpled papers, granola-bar wrappers, and miscellaneous junk. The student's video-game collection was in chaos. The minifridge was practically empty as well.  
>After about 2 hours of furious organizing, the tiny room finally had some semblance of order.<br>Ichirou crashed onto his bed, exhausted.  
>"And I still have that wonderful trip to Japan in 2 weeks. Woo-hoo."<br>He sighed. It wasn't that he disliked Japan, or his family there. It was that he hated traveling. Especially flying. He abhorred flying.  
>Ichirou slid off his bed and slumped into his computer chair. He flipped the slick matte-black laptop's lid open, hearing the machine hum to life. It was a pretty sweet system; his dad had gotten it for him as a gift just a few months ago.<br>He read the latest news as a cup of green tea boiled in his dinky microwave. As it dinged, he leaned back, and pushed the open button while absentmindedly scanning through the latest headlines. One caught his attention.  
>"Mysterious criminal deaths in Japan: A serial killer on the loose?"<br>(Wow. That's creepy. And I just found a Death Note. I wonder...?)  
>A shudder went through his body as he clicked on the article. The deaths were all heart attacks. They were mostly hardened criminals, but there were a few less-dangerous individuals in the mix. The Japanese police force were struggling for leads.<br>Ichirou sighed.  
>This was Kira, all right. He still couldn't believe it was real. Going to Tokyo, with a guy like this who had no qualms about killing anyone who stood in his way.<br>A shock ran through Ichirou's mind as he realized something.  
>Soichiro Yagami! He was real? Light? Ryuuzaki? The investigation team? Could he save the heroes? Stop Kira?<br>He was going to Japan for the summer anyway. His parents were staying there, and he didn't really have a place to stay here in Seattle after the school year ended and students vacated their dorms.  
>Maybe...could he sign up for a university in Japan? To-Oh University? His grades were excellent...He spoke Japanese fluently, and was a code ninja, so he'd have no problem getting into their programming and computer science courses. Plus, he could stay in his parents' nice house in Tokyo. That certainly beat this rainy dump.<br>He grinned inwardly. This might just be the best summer vacation ever.

That thought was immediately dispelled from his mind when he remembered all the packing he had to do. And how loud and jolly his dad was.  
>Ichirou Carson sighed.<p>

Yeah. Probably not the best summer vacation ever. But it still beat staying in Seattle.

One week later...  
>"Finally! Everything's packed!" Jesse exclaimed. She was one of Ichirou's friends from high school, and a fellow Death Note fan.<br>"So...you heard about those killings in Japan?" Ichirou asked as he mixed a pitcher of lemonade for the two of them. It was a hot early summer day, and they were exhausted from all the packing they had just done. Ichirou's entire dorm was boxed up and ready to ship.  
>"Yeah...they're creepy, aren't they?" Jesse responded as she took the glass Ichirou poured her.<br>"Mmhm. It reminds me of Death Note, don't you think?"  
>"Death what?"<br>Ichirou's eyes widened.  
>"Death Note! You know...the anime?"<br>"I have no idea what you're talking about, Ichi. Is that some new series you're watching?"  
>"Yah...musta been some stupid thing I heard of. I dunno. So whaddya think of the new story arc in Bleach? Crazy or what?"<br>As Ichirou listened to Jesse enthuse about how awesome the new season of Bleach was, he thought a little. How come Jesse, of all people, didn't remember Death Note? She was a huge fan; in fact, she was the one who'd gotten him interested in the series in the first place.  
>"...and did you see how Ichigo looked when he did final Getsugatenshou? He was so awesome!"<br>"Yeah." Ichirou answered. He was still thinking.  
>"Hey Jess. Gimme a minute, will ya? I need to check my flight time."<br>"Sure thing, Ichi!"  
>Ichirou walked over to his laptop, which was perched on a cardboard box, and checked his flight time. In another window, he ran a search for Death Note Anime. Nothing relevant came up. He wiki'd Death Note.<br>"Did you mean: suicide note?" The page suggested.  
>"Hm."<br>So...all references to Death Note were gone, along with everyone's memories of it. He closed the browser and walked back to Jesse.  
>"Ichirou?"<br>"Yeah?"  
>"I just wanna say...have a safe trip. And don't forget to email me."<br>"Don't worry, I will."  
>"Thanks for the lemonade."<br>"No prob. And thanks for helping me pack."  
>"It's cool."<br>"See ya, Jess."  
>"Bye, Ichi."<br>She gave him a little wave and smile, and skipped out of the door.  
>Ichirou sighed.<br> 


	3. Chapter 3

-  
>Chapter 2<br>Theme: Yellowcard-Life of Leaving Home  
>Hello, Tokyo<p>

The day of the trip...  
>Ichirou had already shipped all his furniture and books to his parents' Tokyo address. His carry-on backpack had his laptop, PSP, a charger, some snacks, a jet-black waterproof jacket with the Google logo on its sleeve, a blue and green Sounders FC baseball cap, and of course, his Death Note. He was wearing his usual khaki cargo pants, except this time he wore with it a dark green long-sleeve shirt and a black fleece vest. The weather was the usual Seattle drizzle. How depressing, Ichirou thought.<br>Sea-Tac Airport was a disturbingly noisy place. There were little kids shouting, announcements blaring over loudspeakers, and the clanging noises of luggage carts. On the bright side, the ticket lines were fairly short for coach class.  
>"Do you have any luggage you'd like to check in?"<br>"Uhh..no."  
>The ticket-desk attendant gave Ichirou an odd look.<br>"All right then. May I please see your passport?"  
>He displayed his passport to the attendant.<br>"Ok. Now you'll want to go right over there to go through security."  
>"Got it. Thanks!"<br>Ichirou jogged off to get through security.  
>After about an eternity waiting for the bloody lines to clear up, it was Ichirou's turn. He slid his backpack into the scanner after removing his laptop. Then, after taking his shoes, vest, and belt off, and removing all the change from his pockets, he walked through the metal detector.<br>Whew. It didn't freak out about his pants zipper. That would've been awkward.

As Ichirou gathered his gear and put back his clothes and items, he thought about Death Note. About how he might go about affecting the story. How could he keep Soichiro from dying. Keep L from dying. Protect them from Kira, from Misa...Misa. What if he had Misa's note? He could give it to the elder Yagami. But...wouldn't that lead to...an acceleration of the conflict between Mello and the investigation team? Could he give it to L?

(What if...I kill Light? I could do that. It'd stop the killings, L would live...Soichiro would live. I could also kill Misa to be safe. But then Rem...no. Killing Misa was out of the question. Rem would nail me as soon as I did that. Plus, I don't want to kill anybody, especially not with a Death Note. It's not worth the risk of my soul being destroyed after I die. And anyway...who knows what kind of consequence killing the Chief's son would have on him. No. I must not use this note. I may need a Shinigami, however. So I can't dispose of it. And if I give it to Soichiro or L or Matsuda or whoever, Light will probably kill them to get the note. Kill his own father. Wow. That's cold.)

Ichirou

shivered. He hated all this. He just wanted to be in Tokyo with his parents. Even though his father was a little...boisterous, he still loved the old man's cheerful attitude. And his mom's cooking was beyond compare.

A few hours later, he was in the ridiculously cramped coach-class seats of a Boeing 747 headed for Tokyo International. He had barely slept the night before, so he eventually fell asleep in his seat, despite the lack of legroom. He woke up about 5 hours later with a terrible leg cramp as the attendant shook him awake, notifying him of the plane's imminent landing.  
>"Sir...please fasten your seatbelt."<br>"Mmhm...fine..."  
>Ichirou lazily clicked his seatbelt on as he felt his ears pop with the descent of the airplane. His stomach felt a bit floaty, and a subtle feeling of nervous nausea crept into his gut. He was fully awake when the landing gear of the airplane clunked and the wheels made a squeaking noise as they kissed the tarmac of the airport runway.<br>He was finally in Tokyo International Airport. In Japan. Several miles away from home. He sighed as everybody mashed into him, in a mad rush to get off the plane. Ichirou picked up his backpack, and slunk through the plane, apologizing in Japanese to anyone he ran into. At last, he reached fresh air.  
>And it was raining in Tokyo too.<br>"Well, crap then." Ichirou thought.  
>So much for getting away from the Seattle weather.<br>As he walked down the stairs, he surveyed the airport. There didn't seem to be a metro system leading through the airport like in Frankfurt. Thank goodness. He strode rapidly up the entrance ramps leading to the interior of the airport, eventually reaching customs. He was scanned once more, and got his passport stamped for entry into Japan.  
>Now that the legalities were through, there was the issue of finding his parents; his dad, Hans, had promised him that he'd drive him to their house and that he wouldn't need to take a cab or the metro, or even call him.<p>

Ichirou sighed. One of the good things about his dad was that he was distinctive, with wavy blonde hair, sky-blue eyes, and a penchant for flower-patterned shirts. Although, sometimes he wished he'd be a little less conspicuous, as the six-foot-tall doctor ran towards his son, crushing Ichirou in an enormous bear hug.  
>"My little Ichirou! I missed you so much!"<br>"Yeaaah..me too dad..." Ichirou gasped as he had his breath squeezed out of him.  
>The big guy finally released him from the rib-cracking hug, and Ichirou gasped for breath.<br>"How have you been, my boy? Doing good? How'd you like Tokyo, huh, son?" The older man gushed.  
>"I'm fine, dad, thanks. And Tokyo's great. Did you hear about all those criminal deaths, by the way?"<br>The stupid grin on Hans' face melted off, replaced by a somber look.  
>"Yeah. I heard. It's really bad. Some of your mom's distant relatives have ties with Yakuza, so I've been worrying about our safety. Maybe we should all just... move back to Sacramento."<br>"No way, dad. Tokyo is where we belong. You love it here, and so do mom and I. You know that."  
>"Yeah. We do, don't we?" Hans slung an arm over his son's shoulder.<br>"Yeah."  
>"So...how're you feeling? Not plane-sick or anything?"<br>"Nah. You know I don't get sick easily. Not like you." Ichirou poked at his dad's ribs as he said this.  
>"Hey! That's not nice, Ichi!" He chuckled.<br>"Whatever, dad." Ichirou grinned.  
>"So... You guys got all the boxes yet?"<br>"Yeah...were there 12 of em?"  
>"Yep."<br>"We got em all then. They're all stuffed in your room, waiting to tumble down in an avalanche when you open the door." Hans grinned.  
>"Dad!"<br>"Nah, just kidding. We set em all on fire. Had to burn something to smoke all the fish hanging in your room."  
>"Ha, ha. Very funny." Ichirou chuckled.<br>"No, really, though. They're all in your room."  
>"Thanks, dad."<br>He climbed into the passenger seat of his dad's dark-red Impreza wagon, savoring the smell of the leather seats.  
>"Ahh. Finally, legroom."<br>"I know what ya mean. Those airplane seats are atrocious."  
>As the two drove home, they bantered on about everything from the weather to which color they should paint the living room to what Satsuki, Ichirou's mom, was making for dinner tonight.<br>As the two men climbed up the stairs to their 3rd story Tokyo apartment, Ichirou thought about how blessed he was to have such awesome parents. His father was a little too talkative, and his mom was a little bit too serious sometimes, but they were, all in all, wonderful people. Ichirou wondered what kind of a man Soichiro Yagami was in real life. What was his personality? Did he ever think that Light was Kira? Was he a gentle or rough person? Did he even look like he did in the anime, with that rugged face of his? How did he act in day-to-day life? Probably not remotely like his own dad.

"Hoooneeey, I'm hoooooome!" Hans sang out.  
>Ichirou ducked to dodge an ill-aimed spoon that was meant to hit Hans.<br>"Hans, Hans, Hans. You know just how much I hate your singing. And you still do it, full-well knowing that a small object will be promptly tossed at you when you sing like that."  
>Ichirou smiled slightly. Satsuki was in a good mood right now. He could tell from the way her voice smiled a little bit. It had become a ritual of sorts; whenever Hans came home, he'd sing out in his disastrous voice, and Satsuki would throw a spoon or chopsticks at him casually, not even bothering to look away from her cookbook. It was one of those little games they played with each other. Interestingly, if Satsuki was in a bad mood, she wouldn't bother throwing anything at him.<br>"Hi mom. How're you doing?"  
>"I'm doing wonderfully, Ichirou. Come, come. Give me a hug."<br>Ichirou gave his mom a big hug.  
>She was about 5' 3", so Ichirou towered over her. She had a light frame, straight black hair done back in a neat ponytail, a serious look, and brown eyes with slim glasses, in contrast to Hans' thick, burly body, wavy blonde hair, slightly-no, make that excessively-goofy nature, and sparkling blue eyes. They made a wonderful contrast. The thing that tied them together was their passion for Japanese culture. At home, everybody took their shoes off, and they sat on the floor on tatami mats, in traditional Japanese style. Instead of pajamas, they wore kimono. Satsuki had a plain eggplant-colored kimono, Ichirou wore a dark blue one, and Hans wore a salmon-colored cherry blossom-printed kimono. Ichirou slightly envied how manly his father was, to be able to wear something like that and still look like a tough guy, despite his silly, flippant attitude.<br>As they had dinner together for the first time in ages, Ichirou regaled his parents with stories of college. He told them about his friends, the kinds of professors he had, what his dorm was like, and so on and so forth.  
>After dinner, Hans changed into a kimono and plopped down in front of the small TV in the living room, flipping on the news.<br>"And today, more criminal deaths by this so-called 'Kira' throughout Japan and the world. More than eighty-seven people died of heart attacks today alone, most convicted criminals, and some fugitives..."  
>Hans sighed and flipped the set off.<br>"Kira, Kira, Kira. That's all we hear about these days. It's driving me up the wall. I swear, someone has to catch that guy, or else I'll go nuts!" Hans ranted.  
>"Yeah. I think I already have a clue on who it is." Ichirou said calmly.<br>"What?" Both his parents exclaimed in unison.  
>"Someone from Japan, most likely the more densely-populated Kanto region. Many of these criminals were reported only in Japan. It has to be someone with a strong sense of justice, most likely someone with a big ego as well, who thinks they're making the world a better place. Probably a younger person, in their late teens to early twenties, who has associations with either the judicial system or law-enforcement. As in, a parent or older sibling or some other role model is involved in those lines of work. They can't feel ostracized or alienated by a certain group, or else they'd use whatever power they're using to kill the criminals to eliminate that group. It's more likely to be a guy than a girl, since men are typically more likely to be violent than women. However both possibilities are open for now. So...a young man, in Japan, most likely Kanto, fairly well-educated, not ostracized by any one group in particular, strong sense of justice, and a god complex."<br>"Sounds like you, Ichi." Hans snickered.  
>"Ha ha ha. Very funny, dad." Ichirou answered.<br>"Shouldn't you maybe leave the investigating to the police, and unpack your room?" Satsuki questioned.  
>"You're right, mom..."<br>"She's ALWAYS right." Hans said. "Always."

After Ichirou had unpacked most of his boxes, he looked up at the clock. Midnight already, huh? Time sure flies...He sighed, changed into his kimono, and laid down on the living-room couch. He pulled a blanket over him, tried to sleep, but...something didn't quite feel right.  
>He stood up, walked to the bathroom, washed his face. His eyes looked tired and dull. He needed to sleep. But his brain didn't let him. It wanted something to do.<br>Ichirou left the bathroom, noting that now his father had a spot on the couch, and was curled up cozily, watching an old samurai movie. Ichirou grinned and sat next to his father, who wrapped his arm around the younger man's shoulder. Satsuki came soon enough, and Hans moved aside, patting a spot on the couch next to him. She smiled and sat down, leaning her head gently on his chest, putting her right arm behind the blonde's shoulders, as he curled closer to her.  
>Ichirou smiled a little at this, and turned his attention back to the film.<br>By about an hour in, Ichirou's parents were both asleep, Satsuki resting her head on Hans' burly chest, as the older man snored loudly. A smile played on the young man's lips as he slipped back to his own room, leaving his parents to sleep together.  
>When he opened his door, Ichirou almost jumped out of his skin at what he saw. A Shinigami, more specifically Rem, was floating over his mattress, its (her?) red eyes glinting in the cool white moonlight, like a demonic cat's irises.<br>"You...you're a Shinigami!" Ichirou stuttered quietly.  
>"Yes, I am. My name is Rem. I am your Shinigami."<br>"So...the Death Note is real."  
>"Yes, it is. Although I don't know what would lead you to think that it isn't."<br>"I'm a cautious person. Don't like falling for stupid pranks."  
>"I see."<br>"Is there another person using a Death Note right now?"  
>"I don't know, and I don't care."<br>"Fine then. So...nobody else can see you, right?"  
>"Yes. You're the only one who can see me, unless someone else touches your note or any part of it."<br>"That's good to know. Well...uh. If you don't mind. I'll be going to bed now... So could you stay outta my room?"  
>Rem was taken aback. How come this pathetic human have the nerve to say something like that with such impunity? But...it wasn't worth her while to get all riled up about an insignificant human. If he really got on her nerves, she could kill him later.<br>"Fine then. As you wish, Ichirou Carson." She said in a sneering voice.  
>"Appreciate it. By the way, what kinda food you like?"<br>"We Shinigami don't need to eat, unlike you humans."  
>"But if you were to eat something, what would you eat? I mean, I've heard of Shinigami liking apples."<br>"Well. I do like melons."  
>"All right, cool. I'll try to get you some tomorrow. Night, Rem."<br>"Good night, Ichirou."  
>This human kid wasn't too bad, Rem thought. Maybe he'd be a nice person. She didn't like killing people with no reason, so she'd probably leave him be for now. As long as he got her some melons. Melons were tasty. Especially honeydew melons. Those were the best.<p>

Hans woke up with a snort, rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes, and grinning as he saw Satsuke's head laying on his chest. He slid out from under her sleeping form quietly and remarkably gracefully for a man his size, laying her back on the couch. She'd been working quite a bit at the library recently, and he thought she deserved some extra rest. It was about nine o'clock on a Sunday, and he could manage making breakfast himself. How hard could it be?

Ichirou grumbled and turned over in his bed, his hand reaching reflexively for his alarm clock. As he flailed his arm around aimlessly, eventually feeling the plastic buttons of his small black alarm clock and smashing snooze, Ichirou slowly came to realize that the noise didn't stop. He knew his dad would never be able to sleep through that...so what was it?...  
>His eyes widened when he smelled something smoky.<br>Ichirou jumped out of bed and slammed the door of his room open, running into the kitchen to find his dad desperately attempting to fan the smoke from burning toast away from the fire alarm, completely oblivious to the fact that the toaster was still on, and that it posed a very real fire hazard.  
>Ichirou dove for the electrical plug, yanking it from the wall socket just as the smoldering toast burst into flames. He spun around, grabbing the fire extinguisher from beneath the sink and firing away at the burning appliance.<br>Throughout all this, Satsuki was sound asleep, dreaming about that one time Hans had tried to cook breakfast on Valentine's Day and ended up with burnt waffles and runny eggs.  
>Hans was still vigorously swatting at the fire alarm, until it eventually turned off of its own accord.<br>Ichirou looked at his dad's shocked face, they stared at each other for a beat, and then both burst out laughing. Nothing was really damaged, except for the toaster and Hans' already-terrible reputation as a cook, so it didn't hurt to laugh about it.  
>After they cleaned up and had breakfast, Ichirou being a more competent cook than his father was, Hans woke up Satsuki, and the two decided to go to a park together, considering that yesterday's storm had cleared up.<br>"You coming, Ichirou?" Hans asked.  
>"Sorry...I have a few things I need to take care of. Maybe some other time."<br>"All right then. Stay safe, and don't go provoking any Yakuza!" Hans joked.  
>"Don't worry, I'll just send them to you to deal with." Ichirou retorted.<br>"Cruel, cruel fate..." Hans dramatized.  
>"See ya, dad. Mom. Bye!"<br>"Bye, hon!"  
> <p>


	4. Chapter 4

-  
>Chapter 3<br>Theme: Pendulum-Watercolor  
>On Ice<p>

Ichirou walked to the metro station, and took the bus to the Tokyo Police headquarters. Since it was a weekend, most of the office workers were gone. However, the front still had an officer to take care of anyone who came in.  
>"Excuse me. I'd like to talk to the Chief of Police."<br>The young cop gave Ichirou an odd glance. He looked about 25.  
>"What do you want to talk to Chief Yagami for?"<br>Ah...so Soichiro Yagami was still Chief of Police.  
>"I have an important lead in regards to the Kira case that he may wish to know about."<br>"I'll tell him about it."  
>"I'd like to see him in person."<br>"That won't be necessary."  
>"It is of the utmost importance, I assure you."<br>The young officer sighed and picked up his phone. He dialed a number, and waited for whoever was on the other side to pick up.  
>"Yes, this is the front desk. There's a young man here, by the name of... Ichirou Carson who wants to speak to you in person, sir. He says it's very important, and has something to do with the Kira case. Oh. Okay then. I'll show him the way to your office. Okay."<br>He hung up.  
>"The Chief says you can come in. His office's the fourth one on the left."<br>"Thank you very much, Officer-San."  
>Ichirou knocked lightly on the door.<br>"Come in." A weary voice growled from the inside of the office.  
>Ichirou opened the door slowly. The office was of moderate size, not very fancy. The desk was covered with folders, notes, and stacks of paper. It had a computer monitor and keyboard off in one corner. The man sitting at the desk looked exhausted. He had medium-length brown hair that was slicked back with a few strands dangling over his forehead, a thick mustache, soft brown eyes, slim glasses, and a rough, chiseled face. He had a solid build, and was quite muscular. If not for the glasses and office wear, he'd look more like a karate sensei than a police chief.<br>"What do you want?" He said gruffly.  
>"I have some information regarding the Kira case that I'd like to discuss with you."<br>"Go ahead."  
>"I suspect the killer is in Japan. His first victim was the Shinjuku Slasher; he kills using heart attacks with no physical contact. However, he still needs at least a name and face to kill. His capability to kill is most likely supernatural, which is ample reason to be careful with suspects. He hasn't been ostracized by any particular group; he's killing criminals without regard to race, gender, or age. Whoever he is, he has a strong, but twisted sense of justice. He's most likely a well-educated young man, with some sort of access to police criminal databases. His sense of justice may originate from having relatives in the force."<br>"You're saying one of us might be Kira?"  
>"No. Not necessarily. It might just be someone who has delusions of grandeur and a big ego. But...from his pattern of killing only dangerous criminals, there is a fair chance that his sense of justice has been formed due to exposure to relatives in the police."<br>"I am beginning to suspect that you may be Kira. The description certainly fits, for the most part. You know how he kills, and claim that he uses supernatural means. What else do you know that you aren't telling me?"  
>Ichirou tensed. He didn't think the calm, collected Soichiro Yagami would be this confrontational.<br>"Yagami-San. Please calm down. There is no reason to shout at me. Now...Please listen carefully. Kira is killing using a Death Note. A notebook which, if a person's name is written into its pages, said person will die due to a heart attack."  
>Soichiro shuddered as Ichirou leaned forward in his seat. There was a cold blue light in his eyes, and the Chief's heart suddenly clenched. His breath was heavy. He had never felt this terrified before. Was this man...Kira? There was a subtle sensation of chilliness creeping up on him, and the hairs on his neck and body stiffened.<br>"Death...Note?" Soichiro whispered, as if he was afraid that saying it aloud would incur the wrath of God. His heart pounded in his ears, fear filling his chest, cold and icy, like Arctic water.  
>"Yes. A Death Note."<br>"How...do you know...?"  
>"I have a Death Note."<p>

Time slowed for a moment.  
>The only thing Soichiro Yagami could hear was his heartbeat.<br>And then that biological drum ceased to be audible as well.  
>It was a strange sensation, when he thought about it. He had forever to think, it seemed. An icy sensation, a sharp piercing pressure in his heart, and silence. Of all the ways to die, this wasn't all that bad.<br>Then his brain registered what was happening to his body.  
>His eyes widened. He opened his mouth in a desperate attempt to scream, and nothing came out.<br>He clutched at his heart, sliding off his chair, his lifeless body slumping onto the floor, glasses falling away from his face with the gentle tinkling of glass and metal.

"Yagami-San! No!" Ichirou shouted. He checked the Chief's pulse. Nothing. Dead silence.  
>He slammed the door open violently, his own heartbeat pulsating in his ears. It reminded him of the effect used when the player was near death in video games. He could hear only his heartbeat and breaths.<br>How could he think of video games now? A man just had a heart attack right in front of his very eyes.

"The Chief...he had a heart attack! Call an ambulance!" Ichirou shouted at the bewildered receptionist, whose expression shifted through fear, anger, and pain, until it settled on determination.  
>"There's a defibrillator over there! Try to revive him!"<br>Ichirou nodded, grabbing the life-saving device and rushing back to Soichiro's office, tearing his shirt off, placing the cold paddles on his still warm chest.  
>He pushed the button,<p>and the man's muscles spasmed slightly from the force of the shock. Ichirou felt at his neck. Still no pulse. He pushed the button once more, resulting in another jitter running through Yagami's body.  
>The Chief's pulse came back; it was very weak, but it was definitely there. The paramedics rushed in, hefting the Chief's lifeless body onto a stretcher, moving him to the ambulance, which took off towards Tokyo General Hospital.<br>Ichirou remained crouched over where the Chief had been, sweat beading up on his forehead. Had he just given the Chief a heart attack? Or...was it Kira? Weren't Kira's heart attacks immediately lethal? Was this just stress? He hoped it was. He didn't want the Chief to die. His father would probably be called out to deal with the situation; he was one of the best medics in Japan, after all. Not a single patient had died under his care, ever. People who'd been shot, stabbed, hit by cars, had strokes and heart attacks, lost massive quantities of blood, you name it, he'd fixed it. Ichirou prayed that his father would be able to help Soichiro. He didn't want the man to die. He regretted telling him about the Death Note. He shouldn't have interfered with the investigation; he should've just let the Chief figure it out on his own. And now...he might be accused of being Kira. And, in a way, he was. He had a Death Note. So he was technically a "Kira".

He felt a hand lightly touch his shoulder. He looked up to see a young, raven-haired man with a gentle face, dark brown eyes, and a sad countenance.  
>"It's Yagami-San, isn't it?" The young officer asked.<br>Ichirou nodded, standing up.  
>"He had a heart attack. He's still alive, though."<br>The cop looked at his shoes.  
>Suddenly, he raised his head, staring Ichirou in the eyes. His melancholy gaze had transformed into a piercing, deadly stare. He raised his Desert Eagle .50 Caliber, and leveled it at Ichirou's head, taking a few steps back.<br>Ichirou gulped. What was this man doing? Was he insane?  
>"Don't shoot. Please." Ichirou pleaded.<br>"Kira. Kira! I'll kill you...you bastard! You killed the Chief!"  
>"I'm not Kira! Please! I was trying to help him catch Kira! I care about him as much as you do!"<br>"No. No...You are Kira. He had a heart attack. You are Kira. You must be. I'll kill you!"  
>"Think about it! If I was Kira, why would I go to all the trouble of going to the police headquarters and risking capture when I could just kill him from afar? And why would I kill someone like Yagami-San?"<br>"No! You're Kira! I'm sure of it!"  
>"If I were Kira, you would be dead, Matsuda Touta."<br>Matsuda's eyes widened.  
>"How do you know my name? Did the Chief tell you? ANSWER ME! OR I'LL SHOOT!"<br>"Let's not do anything rash. I am not Kira. However, I could very easily kill you right now. Don't make me do that. Put your gun down."  
>Matsuda lowered his weapon slowly, his arm trembling, his breath shaky. He wanted to shoot. He couldn't. He just couldn't bring himself to shoot him. He seemed truthful. He wanted to know who he was, how he knew his name. How he could threaten him with such impunity.<br>"Who are you?" Matsuda asked in a trembling voice.  
>"I am a person with abilities like those of Kira's. I wish to aid you in your investigation of Kira. I have a suspicion of who Kira is. And I know exactly how Kira kills. He only needs a name and face. So I could have killed you when you leveled your weapon at me, and you'd never have a chance to fire."<br>"But...you don't know my name..."  
>"Oh, I do. Matsuda Touta, age 25. An investigator in the Tokyo Police Department. A crack shot with a pistol, but somewhat clumsy and inexperienced in detective processes. You idolize the Chief and want to be just like him. He's your role model. Your parents weren't particularly caring towards you as a child, and you feel like the Chief is something of a surrogate father. You want to protect him as well. Is this accurate?"<br>Matsuda's mouth hung slightly agape. He was confused as to how this man could determine who he was to such detail. He never told anyone about his admiration for the Chief, how he'd been ignored as a child, how much he loved the Chief's fatherly demeanor towards him. And this guy had figured it all out in a matter of seconds. Who the hell was he?  
>"Are you some sort of...Shinigami? Or...an angel?"<br>"Not even close. I'm just a normal human like you or Yagami-San. My father's the best medic in Japan. His name is Hans. A real hero. He's most likely taking care of the Chief right now. My mother's a librarian. Loves to read. I'm as normal as can be. I've just been cursed with the misfortune of obtaining powers like those of Kira's. Nobody but you and Yagami-San know of this. Nobody else should know. Don't tell the rest of the investigation team about me. It will be a secret between the three of us. And if you expose my secret...trust me when I say death won't be the worse thing you'll have to go through."  
>Matsuda quaked in his boots as he saw an icy light glowing in the young man's eyes. He knew he'd better listen to this guy. He didn't want to know what would happen if he disobeyed his orders.<br>"Death won't be the worst thing..." The words echoed through Matsuda's head. This was a dance of life and death. One false move, and he or Yagami-San or maybe both would be dead. Just a name and a face. That was what they were to this...murderer.

Matsuda despised this feeling of weakness. He wasn't in control. He couldn't walk out. This guy was holding him and the Chief hostage. He was at least as bad as Kira, if not worse. Why would he do something like this? What kind of person was he? He seemed pretty cool and level headed. Pretty damn smart as well. Was he...L? The legendary detective? No. L would never reveal his face to anyone, even under alias. This kid probably wasn't L. Plus, L didn't threaten people like this, did he?

Ichirou sighed inwardly. He hated playing with people's minds; he was no better than Light if he manipulated people like this. But...it was a necessary evil to keep the talkative Matsuda from revealing him to the real Kira. That would be the end of him and the rest of the investigation team. In any case, he wasn't going to actually follow up on his threats. He just needed to keep the crazy cop under control until he got to Yagami-San. The big guy would probably keep his subordinate from doing anything rash, like telling Light about all this.

Ichirou's eyes widened as he realized that he wasn't even sure whether Light was the real Kira or not. Since he'd found the notebook instead of Misa, he couldn't be certain of Light having picked up the note. Damn. This was getting to be tricky. Anybody, even Matsuda, might be Kira. The cop did support Kira's actions to a degree, after all. But he didn't have the strength of will to kill so many people without going insane. It wasn't the Chief, either. Ichirou knew that for certain. A man like that could never damn himself to that kind of torment; that guilt of having killed so many people, destroyed that many lives, so many families. He worked entirely above the table, in the open, he didn't use tricks like that. No. It wasn't Soichiro Yagami or Matsuda Touta. He was mostly safe for now, as long as those two didn't reveal him to anyone else.  
>"So. Matsuda-San. Shall we see how the Chief is doing?" Ichirou asked nonchalantly.<br>An expression of surprise appeared on Matsuda's face. He was actually concerned for Yagami-San's well being? What was this guy thinking?  
>"How come you're so worried about him? Huh? You were just threatening us. What's with the sudden change?" Matsuda huffed.<br>"Despite what you may think, I have your best interests at heart. If you reveal my abilities, the real Kira will use the two of you to identify me, and then kill us all. He will become unstoppable. A reign of terror over the entire world. That is the fate worse than death that I spoke of. I never threatened you directly. I do not wish to see any harm befall you, Yagami-San, or any of the other members of the investigation. Especially not Yagami-San. I care for him at a personal level, like you do. He is truly an incredible man, a hero. I want to make sure he's all right."

Matsuda mulled over this new piece of information. It seemed that the kid was just bluffing. He wouldn't have killed them anyway. Matsuda relaxed a little bit. This guy was certainly smart. He needed to keep on his toes when he was around him. He couldn't entirely trust this guy. He might just backstab both of them at the last moment, when he could replace Kira as a world power. Who knew what he might do? Matsuda tensed up again. He didn't trust this kid any more than when he'd first met him. Despite his claims of caring for Soichiro's well-being.  
> <p>


	5. Chapter 5

-  
>Chapter 4<br>Theme: Yellowcard-How I Go  
>Healing<p>

Soichiro's eyes opened slowly, taking in the cool white of the sterile hospital room he lay in. His head throbbed. His heart ached. But...it was still beating, keeping rhythm, like a clock ticking away in his chest. A timer for his lifespan. It was strange, how little he'd appreciated his heart until it was about to give out.  
>He knew he'd just had a brush with death. And yet, he was unaware that his life still hung in the void between existence and oblivion, depending entirely on another man's efforts.<br>"Yagami-San. How are you feeling?" This was a tall, muscular, medic with fair skin, wavy blonde hair and vivid blue eyes. He looked as if the life was sucked out of him. His face was pale, and he was exhausted.  
>"I'm...all right, I suppose, considering I just had a heart attack."<br>"Good. I'm Hans Carson."  
>"Soichiro Yagami, Chief of Police. Good to meet you."<br>Hans' eyes widened a bit, and he enthusiastically shook Soichiro's hand, grinning.  
>"Pleased to meet you, Yagami-San. I am greatly honored by your presence, sir."<br>"No need to be so formal about it. I'm just a man, like you."  
>Hans laid a hand on the older<p>man's chest. It was warm and rough, and it felt comforting. Soichiro closed his eyes, trying to rest. Hans' hand was right over his heart. The pain in his chest slowly faded, dissolving into a feeling of warmth and safety and reassurance that everything would be all right.

Hans winced internally as he drove to the hospital. A police officer had a heart attack from stress, and his skills were needed. When he'd gotten to the patient, he began relaxing. This wouldn't be too bad. All they needed to do was hook him up and provide the proper medication. He would handle the rest. As everyone else vacated the room, the tall medic placed his hand on the mustached man's heart. He closed his eyes and grated his teeth as he felt an agonizing pain shoot through his own heart. He knew that this might save the man's life, so it was worth the physical pain he was experiencing now. The irregularities in the officer's heartbeat smoothed out into a neat pattern of thumps.

That was before Soichiro had woken up.

Now, after the police chief had regained consciousness, Hans was performing a second stage of healing. He'd expended almost all of his spiritual energy the first time, and if he overexerted himself now, they might both die.  
>He clenched his teeth, and mentally braced himself for the shooting pain of a heart attack.<br>And there it was. Icy, harsh, like a collapse and explosion. It felt like his heart was falling apart and being crushed at the same time. A strange pain; very violent, even more so than a bullet wound. He never really got used to it. But...he held on. Pulled through. For Yagami-San's sake. Like he did with every patient.  
>When the pain subsided, he gasped, panting, leaning over Soichiro, who seemed to be a bit bewildered. The chief did notice that his heart felt completely fine now. No pain at all. Carson-San seemed as if he'd been hit in the gut by a jackhammer. He was doubled over in pain.<br>"Carson-San. Are you all right?" Soichiro asked, concern clear in his voice.  
>"I'm... Fine. How do you feel now?"<br>"Better, much better. Whatever it was you did, it has certainly helped ease my pain. However, I'd like to know why you seem to be in such extreme pain."  
>Hans smiled a little, satisfied that he was helping this man's recovery.<br>"I am capable of using some of my life to heal others'. That's what I used to repair your damaged heart. When I do that, I experience some physical pain. It's passing, however. Nothing permanent. Don't worry about...me..."  
>His words trailed off as he slumped onto the ground, panting.<br>"Hans! What's wrong?" Soichiro shouted.  
>"What...is this?" Hans panted.<br>"What is what?"  
>"This...Reiatsu. What is it? It's... crushing!"<br>"What do you mean by spiritual pressure?"  
>Hans got up, leaning on the hospital bed frame for support. He was still panting, and now sweat was beading on his forehead.<br>"Everybody has a quantity of spiritual pressure. I can sense their spiritual pressures when they're nearby, and can tell the attitude of the person who owns it. This pressure...it's like yours, but...different, somehow. More...energetic. And crushingly strong. And it seems sort of...cold, and uncaring."

Soichiro's eyes widened. Sayu? No...Light? He shivered and felt the hairs on his body stiffen. Similar to his...a relative? His father was dead. His mother had been killed ages ago. A cousin? He never really knew them, and didn't keep in touch with his extended family. No. It had to be Light.

He felt the same icy chill grip and claw at his heart like when he'd had his heart attack, as if a creature were attempting to dislodge it from his body, tear it out. He closed his eyes, and bit his lip in pain.  
>"Soichiro...are you all right? Please answer me."<br>"Mmhm. I'm fine. Just a little cold."  
>Hans grabbed a coat hanging on the door, and handed it to Soichiro, helping him pull it on over his hospital robe.<br>The medic's eyes widened as the door of the room opened. He felt like he was going to be annihilated. He was walking into the sun. He turned around and looked at the new visitor. It was a young man, about eighteen or nineteen years old. He had beautiful cedar-brown hair flecked with black. His eyes were like Soichiro's, except keener, sharper, more piercing. Acidic, in a way. They looked like they would burn a hole through Hans' skull. He was intimidating. His Reiatsu screamed, "Get away from my father." So Hans did. He rolled his chair away from Soichiro's bed, allowing him a crystal-clear view of his icy-cold son.  
>"Hello, father. How are you feeling?" Yagami-Kun gave off an impression of warmth and caring. Hans saw straight through it. He felt venom directly beneath the surface. It pained him to know that such a warm-hearted, kind man's son could be so...cold. It felt almost as if he was calculating how to use Soichiro in some sort of plan. Hans felt terrified. Paralyzed with fear, in fact. But he couldn't leave this guy with the police chief. He didn't know what he might do, even if he was his son. He was not trustworthy by any means.<p>

Soichiro didn't seem to feel that way. His face lit up with a parent's loving smile as soon as he saw his son.  
>"Light...I'm so glad you came. I'm a bit better now. When it hit...I thought it was... Kira."<br>"Dad... Are you sure you're feeling fine? I mean...you just had a heart attack."  
>Soichiro closed his eyes, sighing and placing a hand on his forehead. He wiped his face.<br>"I'm feeling better, son. Don't worry yourself too much about your old man. I'll probably be home by tomorrow morning. I may need to stay in the hospital overnight, so the doctors can make sure I don't have another attack."  
>Light was practically shooting daggers at Hans right now, who winced slightly at the aggressive stance Light was taking towards him, the man who saved his father's life. Maybe he was just protective. He didn't want to assume ill intent without good reason...although he had plenty of reason.<br>Light caressed his father's cheek with the back of his hand, and Hans shuddered. Light's Reiatsu was disturbing. He seemed like one who played people against each other for his own gain, with no regard for them as long as he won in the end.

Soichiro's Reiatsu was wonderfully warm and comforting. Hans could say with absolute confidence that this man was a good person without even seeing him. He couldn't say the same about himself, so that was something. Soichiro was the most pure hearted man he'd ever met. He'd seen it all, and hadn't become bitter or cynical. He'd been through hell and back, and never wavered under pressure. He believed in the goodness of people. Completely straightforward. No deception. Absolute honesty. Unconditional love. Incredible strength of will. He would protect his family to the death. That was the kind of man he was. Hans had never sensed a Reiatsu like that before. Ever. In all of his experience.

Light was the opposite of Soichiro. Deceptive, impossible to see through. Ice cold. A mirror of emotions that showed people what they wanted. Toyed with people, setting them up and manipulating them as if they were pieces in some sort of twisted board game. Last one standing wins. Loser dies. And Light was never the loser.

He sensed another pair of Reiatsu approaching. One was somewhat childish. Quite reckless as well. A very innocent person who was unused to being betrayed or mistrusted. A little bit like the Chief. But...very clumsy. He seemed like he wanted to meet someone's expectations. Yagami-San was the person he was associated with. Not the police. Yagami-San. That was where his loyalties lay. He seemed a bit awkward and nervous. Somewhat fearful as well, which was strange.

The other was definitely his son's. Self-confident, analytical and methodical. And yet, he was still capable of love. He wasn't an icy wall. He could calculate, and he could feel. A delicate balance sometimes. In manipulation, he could be almost as effective as Light. But he didn't enjoy it, which was a comforting thing to know. He was far more powerful than Light Reiatsu-wise, except he controlled it. He was impossible to sense if he masked himself, even for a Reiatsu manipulator like Hans. He could approach almost anybody undetected. Of all the noise, he was silence.

As the door opened, Ichirou and a young police officer walked in. The cop's face brightened as soon as he saw Yagami-San talking to Light. The Chief was all right. He didn't die. He was alive and well.  
>"Matsuda. Don't be shy. Come over here." Soichiro said as he saw the young man standing awkwardly at the door, staring at his superior talking with his son.<br>Ichirou shot his dad a glance. They both knew the situation wouldn't be improved by the two of them acting familiar with each other, so both acted as if they didn't recognize the other. As if Hans was just any other doctor, and Ichirou any other visitor.  
>Matsuda approached Soichiro nervously.<br>"Yagami-San...you're all right?" He seemed disbelieving.  
>"I'm fine, Matsuda. How are you doing?"<br>"Well...better, now that I know you're all right."  
>Soichiro grinned, squeezing the young man's shoulder.<br>"That's really nice of you, Matsuda. But you don't need to worry yourself about me. I'm fine."  
>"Good to see you, Yagami-San. I see you've recovered somewhat. How are you feeling?" Ichirou asked.<br>Soichiro sighed.  
>"I have a bit of a headache, but I really can't complain. My heart feels as strong as ever, and my pulse is stable. I suppose I'm feeling fairly good."<br>"Good to hear. Well. I'll be seeing you once you're released. We have much to talk about."  
>Soichiro smiled slightly.<br>"Indeed we do."  
>As Matsuda and Ichirou left, Soichiro traced Light's gaze, which followed them out of the room. Why did he seem so suspicious of them?<br>"Light. Is there something on your mind?"  
>"Hm? Oh. Nothing, I'm fine."<br>"Light...if there's something, just...tell me. I'm here for you."  
>"Yeah. I know, dad."<br>Hans' eyes widened as he felt Light's Reiatsu display extreme spite towards Soichiro. It seemed to belittle and despise the man, almost as if he was disgusted by his existence. Light was a terrifying person, and most likely a sociopath. How else could he hate someone who had never displayed anything but affection towards him? He couldn't be normal, that was for sure.

As Light left, Hans breathed a sigh of relief. He wheeled his chair back to Yagami-San's side.  
>"Light...he's your son, isn't he?"<br>"Yes, he is. A wonderful boy. I'm very proud of him. He's the apple of my eye."  
>Hans was shocked.<br>"He hates you! How can you love him like that?"  
>"How can you say such things? He is an excellent young man, and I am certain he loves both me and Sachiko very much."<br>"No, Yagami-San. He hates you. I can tell. His Reiatsu...when he talked to you, it was full of spite. Hatred. He's just a facade. No real emotions. He couldn't care less if you live or die, Yagami-San. Matsuda cares. My son, Ichirou cares. I care. Your wife cares. But Light..."  
>Hans shook his head.<br>"It hurts me to see someone who's that cold towards his own father."  
>Soichiro sighed and closed his eyes. He just wanted to rest. He felt incredibly tired. Exhausted. He slipped away into the void of sleep effortlessly.<br>Hans looked at him. He looked so calm and restful. Like a child, in a way. The expression of care and worry was wiped from the Chief's face, replaced by absolute peace. 


	6. Chapter 6

-  
>Chapter 5<br>Theme: Pendulum-9000 Miles  
>Putting The Pieces Together<p>Hans exited the room, leaving Yagami-San to rest. As he turned right into the hallway leading to the staff cafeteria to rest a bit, he noticed his son and Matsuda conversing in the hall.<br>"Ichirou-Kun! How could you think something like that? Light can't be Kira. He's the Chief's son!"  
>"Say whatever you like, Matsuda, but I still suspect him. He does act at least a little bit suspiciously around us, after all. Did you see that look he gave us as he passed by in the hallway?"<br>"Yeah...but that doesn't mean anything!"  
>An idea went through Ichirou's mind. He could ask Rem. She would be able to tell him whether a certain person was a Death Note owner.<br>"I need to use the restroom; I'll meet you right out here. One minute." Ichirou went off to the men's room, and as soon as he got in, he locked himself into a stall.  
>He pulled his phone out, and played a ringtone, acting as if he'd gotten a call.<br>"Hello? Rem?"  
>"Yes?"<br>"What do you know about Light Yagami?"  
>"Why should I tell you?"<br>"Oh, I forgot, didn't I? I should've gotten those melons. Well, it's OK. I'm sure you'll be more willing to talk once I get you some delicious, juicy honeydew melons. One quarter per complete answer."  
>Rem's catlike eyes narrowed. This kid wanted to play hardball, huh? She couldn't be made to answer questions for treats...but... Damn it, she wanted those juicy, sweet honeydew melons.<br>"Fine. You give me melons, I give you answers."  
>Ichirou grinned.<br>"OK. Talk to you later. Bye."  
>He slipped his phone back into his pocket and exited the restroom. Matsuda was chatting with Hans.<br>"So...you're the doctor who was working on the Chief?"  
>"Yeah. He's a great man. I've never seen anyone quite like him."<br>"Yeah. He's like a father to me, ya know? My parents never really cared for me when I was a kid, and the Chief kinda took me under his wing. I look up to him; he's my role model. I really want to live up to his expectations. He's been so nice, so kind to me...I want to be able to return the favor someday."  
>Hans smiled.<br>"You really love him, don't you?"  
>"Of course I do! He's...the Chief! He's Yagami-San! How can anybody not like him?"<br>Hans furrowed his brows a little. He knew of someone who didn't exactly share Matsuda's enthusiasm for the old man.  
>"Hey, Dad. Matsuda. What's up?"<br>"Hm? Not much. How'd you get to know the police chief anyway, son?"  
>"I had a lead about the Kira case, so I went to the police headquarters and talked to Chief Yagami about it. While I was talking to him, he had a heart attack due to stress. I used the defibrillator to help restart his heart, then the paramedics came. And...the rest was all you, Dad."<br>"Huh. That's interesting. I wonder what you might have told him that would've stressed him into a heart attack. Don't tell me you're Kira, or I'll have a heart attack!" Hans jested.  
>Ichirou grinned and rubbed his neck in embarrassment.<br>"Ehh. I guess he was just really stressed out, and when I told him that Kira might be a cop, he got angry at me. That was probably it."  
>Hans slapped Ichirou's back.<br>"Yeah. I see what ya mean. He treats these guys like family. I suppose that'd strain his poor heart. He seems pretty healthy though. I mean...he's more ripped than I am! And he's older, too! I'm really feeling inadequate now!" Hans ranted.  
>Matsuda and Ichirou chuckled at Hans' act.<br>"Eh, don't freak out about it, Dad. You two are probably tied for number one badass in Japan. I mean...you know CQC! Like Big Boss! How awesome is that?"  
>Hans looked a bit indignant.<br>"Not awesome enough. That guy can probably wipe the floor with me."  
>Matsuda snickered at the image that came into his head of the two tough guys duking it out in a karate dojo, in traditional karate gis.<br>An acidic look from Hans resulted in him biting back his laughter.  
>Ichirou smirked at Matsuda, who looked annoyed.<br>"Anyway...I should get back to Yagami-San. See if he's still fine, or if he had another heart attack because of all the sneezing we must be causing him." Hans joked.  
>"Yeah, see you round, Dad."<br>"Nice meeting ya, Carson-San!"  
>"See you later, boys!"<br>Matsuda turned to Ichirou once Hans was out of earshot.  
>"Did he just call us..."<br>"...Boys?"  
>The two sighed in unison.<p>

Hans returned to Yagami-San's room, but only after raiding the vending machine in the hallway for a snack. Soichiro was wide awake, staring out his room's window.  
>"Hey, Yagami-San. Something on your mind?"<br>"How come you have all of these... Abilities? You can sacrifice your life to heal another, you can sense people's spirits at a distance, and you can tell what their personality is like from that... spirit sense. You aren't a normal person, are you?"  
>"Eh. I suppose you could say I'm not normal. I've always had those abilities. A long time ago, when I was a kid, I could always tell who was going to come through a door before they were even audible. And when one of my little siblings was hurt...I'd always bandage their cuts, and they healed remarkably quickly. I never told anybody that it hurt whenever I took care of their cuts and scrapes."<br>Soichiro's eyes widened. This guy...was always like this? He always had these abilities?  
>Hans shrugged.<br>"I guess I never really thought much of those skills until I became a medic in Japan. It seems like my abilities were greatly strengthened here. I could heal massive wounds and injuries that would most likely be lethal without my intervention. Like your heart attack. Of course, my spiritual pressure is greatly impacted by that level of healing."  
>Soichiro was amazed. This man was more of a hero than he was. He'd most likely saved hundreds of lives. And nobody knew how.<br>"I might be able to revive someone whose heart had stopped entirely, but it would probably cost me my life. And... I would have traded mine for yours, had it come to that."  
>Soichiro looked shocked. Hans just gave him a somber look.<br>"I'm not worth losing your life for, Hans. You can save many more lives than I could ever dream of."  
>"No, Soichiro. If it ever came down to it, I'd willingly sacrifice myself for you."<br>Soichiro closed his eyes, his voice cracking slightly.  
>"Why?"<br>"I'd do that for anyone else. Not a single patient has died under my care, and that's not going to change. I've dedicated myself to saving people's lives. I can't be so selfish as to value my own life over another's. And, when you know that tomorrow might just be the day you die, life is that much sweeter."  
>Soichiro just looked at this remarkable man, and smiled. He'd found someone who knew how to live and die. Knew how to walk the line. His heart was at peace.<br> 


	7. Chapter 7

-  
>Chapter 6<br>Theme: Chemistry-Period (Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood opening)  
>Questions And Answers<p>

When Ichirou got back home, he noticed that his mom was out. Probably gone shopping. He'd picked up some melons on the way back, and was now in the kitchen, slicing them into quarters and arranging them neatly on a large glass platter, which he promptly took to the dining room. He laid the platter on the table, and sat down. Rem sat across from him.  
>"Ok. Here's one quarter of a melon. Now...once you're done with that, I want an answer: Is Light Yagami a Death Note user?"<br>Rem was munching away at the juicy fruit. Once she finished it, she looked at Ichirou intently.  
>"I cannot see his lifespan, and there is currently a Shinigami following him. So yes, I believe he owns a Death Note."<br>Damn. If Light had a Death Note...this would be dangerous. One false move...and that was it. Mikami might miss a key detail of his opponent's tactics, Takada could slip up under pressure, and Misa would act rashly out of anger.

But Light...he was always scheming. And he had Ichirou's name and face. However...he didn't know who he was. For all Light knew, he might be a new police officer in Yagami-San's group. Thus, he couldn't kill him without drawing undue suspicion to himself. But...Light could write out a script for his death, like that of Raye Penbar's. He'd have to figure out how to manipulate deaths first, though. And...if he tied his life with another person's, he wouldn't die, since the Death Note couldn't kill someone if their death would directly result in another person's death. Yes...he might just be able to outsmart Light. But he needed to get Yagami-San's cooperation. He'd have to be working with the investigation team if he wanted Light to give him some breathing room. If an investigation team member were to die...Suspicion

would fall on Light too quickly. So he just needed to convince the Chief to let him join the team. He'd be safer then. But...how...? He was just twenty, after all. Matsuda, the youngest member, was five years older than he was. But...then again, he did have valuable skills to add to their repertoire. He could do network intrusion-detection. That'd help them figure out who had gained access to the investigation databases. And it would create evidence against Light. Yes...that was a good start. Later on, he might be able to hack Light's email to see if there was anything that might incriminate him. Even better...he'd code a soft-mod for Light's smartphone that would transform it into an always-broadcasting location, voice, and video bug. The only possible change Light would notice is a decrease in battery life. And even then, Ichirou could work around that by replacing the original battery with a high-capacity duplicate. He only needed to get Yagami-San on his side. If he could get the green light for those projects...he would have Light right where he wanted him.

Ichirou grinned. This was starting to sound like fun.

"That's good, Rem. Have another piece if you'd like."  
>Rem smiled slightly. This kid wasn't too bad. He could be fairly generous if he wanted to, and he was rather smart as well. For a human.<p>

Later that evening...  
>Ichirou hopped on the subway at around 8 PM, heading for the hospital once more. He was wearing more formal garb now: a black jacket, dark gray jeans, and an electric blue dress shirt. As Ichirou climbed up the stairs to the fresh summer night, he noticed Light walking down the stairs with a sour, angry look on his face. He'd looked as if he had just gotten in a fight.<p>

Ichirou wondered why Light looked so embittered. Maybe...Yagami-San? No...no. He prayed it wasn't a conflict between the two. Light was Kira, and if he used the note to kill Soichiro, he'd have no qualms about using it against him as well. And... it hurt him to imagine Soichiro dying. He was so honorable and just and stood up for what was right, protected those who couldn't protect themselves. How could anyone want to kill someone like that? Ichirou realized how heavy of a burden he held. Collecting evidence towards proving Light was Kira would not be easy. And keeping Yagami-San alive through it all was decidedly nightmarish. He was protecting the heroes. That was...something. It was difficult, but...he knew it was what he had to do. It seemed so unlikely. But here he was. He didn't feel any sort of selfish desire for fame and fortune. He just felt an urge to do what he could. Save someone's life. Maybe even thousands of lives.

As Ichirou entered the hospital and walked over to the recovery room Soichiro Yagami was resting in, he contemplated what he would say to the Chief. How could he say that he suspected Light of being Kira without being too blunt or untactful? The fact that the Chief was Light's father didn't make it any easier.  
>He knocked lightly on the door, and heard Hans saying, "Come in."<br>He opened the door, stepping in and closing it in one fluid movement, walking towards Soichiro, near whom Hans was sitting, reading the Chief's medical history.  
>"Hi Dad. Yagami-San."<br>"Hello there, Ichirou. It's nice to see you're so concerned for this man's health, but...don't you think you should be having dinner right now?" Hans said, looking up from his clipboard.  
>"I'm not hungry. And...I couldn't feel comfortable unless I knew Yagami-San was all right."<br>Soichiro smiled at the dark-haired young man.  
>"I greatly appreciate your caring for me. It really means a lot."<br>Hans blew a stray hair out of his face, annoyed by something.  
>"I can't believe this. You're a 6th Dan black belt in Shotokan karate?"<br>"What of it?" Soichiro said, relaxed.  
>"I'm so inadequate! I need to become a hand to hand combat master!"<br>Soichiro laughed, a deep, hearty, growling laughter.  
>"Don't worry yourself about it, Carson-San. You don't need to compete against me or anyone. Just be happy with your place in life."<br>"Easy for you to say! You're a 6th Dan black belt!"  
>"Dad...you keep forgetting that you're one of the few people who are better at CQC than most military personnel. You're practically a hand to hand fighting and disarming master."<br>"Ah. Well. I suppose so." Hans turned red.  
>Soichiro and Ichirou both smiled.<br>"Yagami-San...I have something to talk to you about. In private."  
>Hans left the room, getting the point without any further elaboration.<br>"What is it?"  
>"Yagami-San...please don't react violently about this, but... I suspect that your son, Light Yagami, is Kira."<br>Soichiro closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He exhaled. He put a hand over his heart. Breathed in and out, calming himself.  
>Ichirou was very, very tense. He didn't want to get yelled at by Yagami-San. The man was really terrifying when he was enraged.<br>"Carson-Kun...what leads you to believe that?" He said that with remarkable calm for a man whose son was just accused of being a mass-murderer.  
>Ichirou sighed.<br>"Do you remember how I told you that I have a Death Note?"  
>He felt Soichiro tensing up, his muscles stiffening.<br>"Yes, I do."  
>"Well. Death Notes don't just appear out of thin air. Shinigami are the original owners of Death Notes."<br>Soichiro's eyes widened.  
>"Shinigami? My god... Shinigami?"<br>A shudder ran through the older man's body. He felt an icy feeling creeping up on him. Shinigami? Those were real? There was no way. His heart felt like it was going to freeze.  
>"Shinigami are real. I know you're thinking they can't be real, but they are. If a Shinigami drops their note in the human realm and a human picks it up, the Shinigami is forced to follow that human until they die, return the note to the Shinigami, or destroy it. A Shinigami can see the lifespans of people. If a person owns the Death Note, the Shinigami will not be able to see their lifespan. My Shinigami couldn't see Light's lifespan, and noticed another Shinigami lurking around him. Thus, I concluded that Light was a fellow Death Note owner, and could kill you at any time, just by writing your name and a cause of death in his note or a piece of it."<br>Soichiro's emotions were a mixture of anger, fear, and heartache. He loved his son. He really did. What would cause the boy to become a mass-murderer? He just couldn't believe it. Light? His Light? No...  
>"How do you know that your Shinigami is telling the truth? And how can I know that you're telling the truth? What if you're making this entire matter of Shinigami up?"<br>Ichirou rubbed his neck. He hadn't thought of that. How could he convince Soichiro of the existence of Shinigami without scaring him to death?  
>"Yagami-San. Would you please touch this notebook?"<br>Ichirou pulled out his note from the messenger bag he carried.  
>"Why?"<br>"If you touch the notebook, you will be able to see the owner's Shinigami."  
>"And how do I know I won't die if I touch it?"<br>Ichirou shoved the notebook into Yagami-San arms roughly.  
>"There. Now look behind me."<br>Soichiro opened his mouth to shout at Ichirou for shoving the notebook at him, but froze he saw the monstrous creature standing right behind the boy. Seven feet tall. Purple, spindly body and arms. They reminded Soichiro of human spines. Its head was bony white, with enormous, catlike eyes of yellow and red. Its forehead was wrapped in a gauzelike material, almost like a mummy.  
>"S-S-Shinigami!" He shouted, dropping the notebook in horror.<br>"Hello, Soichiro Yagami. My name is Rem." The beast said.  
>He was panting in fear, beads of sweat on his forehead and neck. His eyes were wide in fright.<br>Ichirou put an arm around Soichiro's shoulder, pulling him close.  
>"Yagami-San...please, don't panic. Rem won't do anything to you." Ichirou placed his hand on Soichiro's back, rubbing gently. He could feel the Chief's heart pounding like a drum.<br>The older man's panicked breathing slowed, and he regained his composure. His breath was still shaking from fear.  
>"You...are a...Shinigami?" He said between pants of breath.<br>"Yes, I'm Ichirou Carson's Shinigami. He picked up my Death Note; thus, I am bound to stay with him until he dies, destroys the note, or relinquishes control of it to another person or Shinigami."  
>"You...won't kill me?" Soichiro asked, fearfully.<br>"No, Rem won't hurt you, Yagami-San. She isn't evil or mean. Just a Shinigami." He hugged the older man close to him, his aroma of cologne and sweat and weapon cleaning fluid tickling Ichirou's nose.  
>"Oh...my god. You gave me the fright of my life, Ichirou. I felt like I was going to die. Don't you ever do that again." Soichiro reprimanded, his head buried in Ichirou's neck.<br>Ichirou smiled gently.  
>"It's all right, Yagami-San. I won't do it again, I promise. I just needed you to believe me. Do you believe me now?"<br>Soichiro pulled away from the younger man, their eyes meeting, Ichirou's youthful slate-blue, and Soichiro's wise cedar-brown. There were tears in the older man's eyes.  
>"Yes...yes, I believe you now. I'm sorry for ever having doubted you, Ichirou. I'm so sorry..."<br>"No need to apologize. Anybody would be suspicious of such an outlandish claim. I expected no less from the great Chief of Police of Tokyo."  
>The two moved away from each other, each looking deep into the other's eyes. Ichirou's eyes were smiling. Soichiro's were deep in thought.<br>They stayed like that for a few minutes, each staring into a window to the other's soul.  
>Soichiro fell backwards onto his hospital bed with a sigh, a wry smile on his lips.<br>"This has been the strangest day in my life. I met a man with the same abilities as Kira's, a medic who can heal with a thought, and a Shinigami."  
>Ichirou just grinned.<br>After a while, he spoke.  
>"I'd like to investigate Light as a suspect for Kira. And...I need your approval. That was the reason for my visit."<br>Soichiro sighed.  
>"I don't approve of that."<br>"Why not?"  
>"I can't say that he's Kira without valid reason to suspect him. I have no evidence other than your word, which counts for very little in a court of law."<br>Ichirou smirked.  
>"I can collect the evidence you need."<br>"Are you suggesting wiretapping and planting bugs?"  
>"That's right."<br>"No. That's illegal. You have no right to do that, and I can't approve of you committing a crime under my duty to the city as Chief of Police of Tokyo."  
>"Well. I suppose I'd have to do it without your approval."<br>"In that case, I would be forced to stop you, as you have displayed clear intent to commit a felony punishable by imprisonment."  
>Damn. This guy was no pushover. But Ichirou had one more card to play.<br>"Listen, Yagami-San. I respect your authority as Chief of Police of Tokyo. However, that doesn't mean I'm going to follow the law's every letter if it conflicts with my conscience. If there's something that I believe is right, and may save people's lives, I'll do it whether the law says it's right or wrong."  
>Soichiro was taken aback at this.<br>"Are you really willing to be arrested for this?"  
>"I am. As long as it stops Kira, I'm willing to go to jail. However...if you arrest me now, Kira will know of it. And then... I'll be killed by him due to me being a criminal and you'll no longer have your best source, as well as having my blood on your hands. So, you'll have to make a choice. Let the law slip now, or let Kira gain power later."<br>This kid knew how to play his hand. He wouldn't be dissuaded from this course of action; that was for certain.  
>"As long as you don't let yourself get caught... I'll let you do whatever you want this time only. However...if you're caught, I will not hesitate to have you arrested and imprisoned."<br>"Thanks for letting it go this time. And don't worry about me getting caught. I know how to sneak around."  
>Soichiro raised an eyebrow.<br>"What do you mean by that?"  
>Ichirou laughed at Soichiro's supercilious expression.<br>"Oh, nothing in particular. I'm just stealthy, that's all."  
>The police chief sighed.<br>"Fine then. Good luck, Carson-Kun."  
>"And good luck to you as well, Yagami-San. I'll be reporting back with my results."<br>Ichirou left as promptly as he came in, giving Hans a victorious look as he turned into the hallway.  
>"Hm?" Hans wondered why his son looked so triumphant. He'd try to remember and ask him about that later...<br> 


	8. Chapter 8

-  
>Chapter 7<br>Theme: Ladytron-Ghosts  
>Undercover<p>

Names and faces. That was all Light needed. And Ichirou knew where he got them from: the police department criminal database. Yagami-San's computer had a link to the database.  
>Thus, Ichirou needed to break into the Yagami family network, plant a rootkit on Yagami-San's machine, and sit back and observe Light's daily escapades.<br>He decided to "break and enter" on a weekday, when both his parents were at work, and Light would be at school.  
>Step one, breaking in, wasn't too hard. There was a conveniently-large apartment building across the street, and the doorman didn't seem to mind Ichirou's claim that a friend said he'd meet him here. After about ten minutes of collecting wireless packets, Ichirou could slice into the network.<br>And there it was: Soichiro Yagami's PC.  
>Next step: cracking the remote-access password.<br>Ichirou figured that Soichiro didn't exactly put too much weight to network security, so he started with the default password. Nothing. He tried firstname, lastname, firstlast, lastfirst, all the way to name with numbers from date of birth mixed in. None of them worked.  
>Ichirou facepalmed as he remembered that he could just use the Administrator account, which almost never had a password.<br>(That's a fact, dear readers. The built-in Administrator accounts on Windows do not have passwords by default, even on Windows 7!)  
>Ichirou almost pumped his fist in the air as the login succeeded, but restrained himself when he remembered he was in an apartment-building lobby with a slightly suspicious doorman practically breathing down his neck.<br>Step two: done.  
>Step three consisted of installing the rootkit, which would log network connections to and from the computer, and opening the proper firewall ports, as well as adding an exception to the antivirus.<br>That was a piece of cake. Ichirou made a mental note to thank the idiotic engineer who'd made the decision to leave a shipping tanker-sized backdoor in every single modern version of Windows if he ever met him.  
>In about 45 minutes, he had one task done with. Now all he had to do was wait for Light to come home, and observe what happened then. He hoped Light didn't check for rootkits with a scanner. He probably wouldn't, but just in case, Ichirou installed a version of the Blue Pill hypervisor to reduce the chances of detection via conventional anti-rootkit scans to zero. Blue Pill gave him kernel-level access to the computer, and he had a program listening on certain ports. So if he ever needed to get back into Soichiro's machine, he had a backdoor conveniently available for only him. Now was the time to beat it.<br>Ichirou hopped on the next bus towards home, filled with anticipation. Like a hunter waiting for his prey to fall into a trap.

Light came back home from school at about four o'clock. He immediately went up to his room and began his work as Kira. The notebook came out of its place in the drawer's hidden compartment, and the computer was flipped on.  
>Light stretched as he waited for his desktop to boot up. Once he'd logged in, he opened a web browser to Facebook for cover, and browsed to the database dump of convicted criminals he'd downloaded a few weeks ago from his father's computer. True, it was outdated, but he didn't need the latest database, and constant accesses via that computer while Yagami-San was at work would raise too much suspicion. He could scope out the latest targets via the news anyway.<br>"Ah. Here we go."  
>As the ink hit the page, death sentences were written. Each to be executed in forty seconds.<br>Light grinned. He loved doing this. He felt it was worthy work. Unlike that of his weak-willed father, who actually thought that working within the law would get him somewhere.  
>How pathetic. He might have been a good Kira, but he was working with the police. So he would have to be eliminated eventually.<p>

Ichirou stayed up late in anticipation of the email he'd receive when Yagami-San's computer connected to the Internet to get a new version of the criminals database.  
>He fired up Need for Speed Hot Pursuit, and played a few races as he waited. First place, first place, and first place, naturally. It helped that he had a Pagani Zonda R, of course.<br>He stayed up until 1:00 A.M, and there was no message.  
>"What could I have done wrong?" Ichirou wondered.<br>Realization struck. Light probably didn't access the database on the police station network every time he needed to look up criminals. He might have his own copy of the database, which he would've downloaded a few weeks ago. And as for more recent criminals, he could just look them up on the news.

Dammit. Light wasn't stupid. He might just download the new database when Yagami-San was at home, connected to his work network, and working on the same database, and Ichirou wouldn't be able to distinguish between the two. Yagami-San himself might download a copy to work on when he wasn't connected to the network, and Light could just copy that.  
>That plan didn't work too well. If someone knew what they were doing, they could work around that level of observation. But Ichirou had one more ace up his sleeve.<br>He remotely connected to Yagami-San's computer, and increased the level of logging to local and wide-area connections. Now...if Light tried connecting to Yagami-San's computer at all, Ichirou would get an alert.  
>Over the next few days, Light didn't connect a single time.<p>

And then came L's announcement.

Ichirou decided he'd try to intercept the task force members before they got to L, and persuade them to let him go with them. His skills could be useful, and combining his adeptness with technology with L's remarkable planning ability would make for a winning team.

On the night of the meeting, he put on his best outfit: crisp, clean, light blue dress shirt, well-ironed black suit pants, and a sleek black suit jacket.

"Going on a date, son?" Hans questioned.  
>"Nah...just meeting someone for an interview."<br>"What for?"  
>"The Kira Investigation Task Force."<br>Hans' eyes widened.  
>"You...investigating...Kira?"<br>A smirk appeared on Ichirou's face.  
>"Yeah. That's me. Sweet summer job, huh?"<br>Hans was speechless.  
>Satsuki just grinned at Ichirou.<br>"Good luck, Ichirou. Stay safe. I'm proud of you."  
>"See ya, Mom. Dad. Wish me luck!"<br>He took the messenger bag containing his laptop and a clipboard, along with his Death Note, with him, hopping on the metro towards the police headquarters.  
>He stayed on the opposite side of the street of the police station's entrance. It was best if the cops didn't notice him tailing them.<br>At around nine o'clock, Ichirou noticed a pair of officers leaving the building. He recognized them as Soichiro and Aizawa.  
>He hailed a cab as the two policemen entered an unmarked car.<br>"Where to?"  
>"Just follow that car. Ten thousand yen if you can manage to keep their trail. They're headed for an upscale hotel. One thousand bonus if you can get there first."<br>"All righty then."  
>The cops seemed to notice at some point, as they began taking side streets and shortcuts.<br>"Ehh...doesn't matter what way they try to lose us. There's only one really luxurious hotel around here." The driver said.  
>Eventually, reaching a posh hotel, Ichirou paid the outrageous cab bill, and stepped out, going in ahead of the investigation team.<p>

Previously...  
>"You drive, Aizawa. I'll make sure nobody's following us."<br>"Yes, sir."  
>The two investigators entered the unmarked black car. Soichiro was apprehensive. There was something nagging in the back of his mind, and he couldn't remember what<p>it was. It was leading him to the brink of insanity.  
>As he spotted the cab tailing them, he remembered what was getting on his nerves.<br>Ichirou.  
>That kid was spying on his son. And he didn't like it one bit. He should have convinced him not to do anything back in the hospital. Now it was too late. Soichiro gritted his teeth.<br>And what did that crazy kid think he was doing now? Or...was it someone else who was tailing them?  
>"Aizawa...I think there's someone following us. That cab's been on our tail for the last ten minutes."<br>"Hm? Ah, I see it. I'll try to lose whoever it is."  
>Aizawa took an abrupt right turn, and the taxi stayed on them. Again and again, Aizawa tried losing the person who was tailing them, with no success. Cabbies needed to know every single street in the city if they wanted to get anywhere, and this guy was no exception. Aizawa didn't have total recall of every street in town. He stuck to main roads and occasionally went on side streets, not deviating too much from his path. He was too easy to follow.<br>"Yagami-San...I don't think it's gonna work. Whoever this guy is, he knows the city."  
>Soichiro grumbled in frustration.<br>Eventually, the cab passed them, heading in the same direction as they were.  
>A wave of relief flooded through Soichiro and Aizawa. Captain and lieutenant were at ease.<br>When they reached the hotel, the two cops were perturbed to find Ichirou waiting in one of the lobby chairs, reading a newspaper, one leg leisurely crossed over the other.  
>An observer would readily notice the veins popping on Soichiro's forehead as his face turned red with rage.<br>"Hello there, Yagami-San. I just wanted to tell you that I didn't find any evidence of Light accessing your computer for the last few days. And, I'm interested in your meeting with the legendary detective."  
>Aizawa turned pale, a sweatdrop collecting on his forehead. Who was this guy?<br>"How did you know about that?" Soichiro growled.  
>Ichirou grinned.<br>"I have my ways. So, how about it? Shall I accompany the two of you?"  
>Soichiro felt like breaking the kid's legs. But he held himself back.<br>"No, you will not. Get out of here. Beat it." The police chief barked.  
>"I do believe the man you are going to meet would be interested in utilizing my... unique skills."<br>Soichiro looked like he was going to snap any second now. The vein in his neck was as thick as a Sharpie.  
>Ichirou put his paper down, and slung an arm around Soichiro's shoulder casually, as if they were best buddies.<br>"Well! Best not to keep the famous detective waiting, correct? You don't want to get a reputation for being late, after all." Ichirou said quietly.  
>Soichiro's breathing was heavy. He looked defeated and crushed.<br>"Ichirou Carson. You bastard." He said through clenched teeth.  
>"That's me!"<br>The old man couldn't stay angry at the cheerful kid forever. He sighed.  
>"If he somehow figured out where we were going, when, and got here before we did... Maybe the detective might be interested in his skills." Aizawa suggested to Soichiro.<br>"...I really hate you, you know that, Ichirou?"  
>"Love you too, Chief. Let's go."<br>The three entered the elevator, Soichiro pushing the button.  
>It was awkwardly quiet. Ichirou had his dad's goofy grin on his face.<br>As they stepped out, a room-service waitress entered with an empty cart. It appeared to have been laden with sweets not too long ago; Ichirou could tell from the crumbs and cream that lined the edge of the plates. That was definitely from L's room.  
>The trio walked up to room 327, and Soichiro straightened his tie. He hated ties; didn't wear them to work, to social events, or anywhere else except extremely important meetings. At funerals and weddings, he was always the one in traditional Japanese dress. Kimono and hakama. He was an embodiment of the ideal Japanese man: proud, honorable, strong, respectful, loving.<br>The only person who could make him break this behavior was Ichirou Carson. The relationship was love-hate. Ichirou had unconditional respect and admiration for Yagami-San as a person, but he couldn't care less about the fact that he was Chief of Police of Tokyo. His authority was useless against this kid. And he hated that. Feeling powerless, out of control. Disrespected, dishonored.  
>Was L going to be like that? He hoped not. He might suffer a psychotic break if that were the case.<p>Soichiro Yagami knocked on the door.<p>

"I believe we requested that you come in parties of two, each thirty minutes apart." A formal, eloquent voice spoke through the door.  
>"Hello, there. I'm actually an aide of the Chief's. He didn't expect me to meet him at the hotel, and didn't bother telling me about the two-person thirty-minute rule. I'm very sorry about the inconvenience." Ichirou fabricated seamlessly.<br>The hacker felt Soichro's eyes burning holes into the back of his skull, and he loved it.  
>He heard some chatter within the room, and eventually the door opened.<br>An old man with gray, thinning hair, oval-shaped spectacles, a well-trimmed mustache, and a long face was the one who opened the door. Quillish Wammy. Or...Watari, as he was known to the investigation team.  
>"L has decided to allow for this oversight; however, please do not make the same mistake again. Please come in, gentlemen."<br>The room looked less like a nice hotel and more like a luxurious apartment. There were large, comfortable armchairs set up in a circular pattern around a long rectangular black coffee table. The walls were painted a light cream brown, like coffee with a lot of milk.  
>"Take a seat. L will see you once the entire investigation team is here. Make yourselves comfortable in the meantime."<br>The three men settled into chairs, Soichiro and Aizawa sitting down first, the two picking spots next to each other. Ichirou sat down to the left of Soichiro, smiling slightly. He noticed a vein pop in the older man's forehead, and his smile grew subtly wider.  
>He really did love Yagami-San; however, he was in a mischievous mood right now, and knew he could afford to expend some of the Chief's good will towards him for some fun. At least for now. He'd regain favor with the old man later.<br>Half an hour later, Mogi and Ide arrived; then, another half-hour passed until the arrival of the youngest two members, Matsuda and Ukita.  
>Once everyone was settled in, a door was opened slowly. The entire investigation team's sights fell on the person opening it. He was a young man, looking no older than 25; he had messy, somewhat spiky black hair, wide obsidian eyes, and incredibly pale skin and dark bags under his eyes. He looked as if he'd barely seen sunlight. He wore a loose-fitting white long-sleeved shirt, floppy jeans, and stood with his hands in his pockets, hunched over slightly.<br>Soichiro was confused. This...was L? The world's greatest detective? He bore a slight resemblance to Ichirou. And he didn't like that hungry look in his oversized jet-black eyes.  
>"Hello. I am L. Please call me Ryuuzaki."<br>Ichirou grinned. Finally, someone who was interesting.  
>Soichiro frowned slightly. He couldn't handle another person who disrespected him, treated him like a fool. The stress from dealing with just Ichirou was already getting to him; he'd noticed a streak of gray hair when he'd gotten a haircut last week.<br>He sighed inwardly.  
>L sat down across from the investigators, crouching in his odd froglike way on the large plush chair.<br>"What are your names?"  
>Soichiro opened his mouth to respond, but Ichirou beat him to the point.<br>"He's Shijuro Asahi, I'm Ryo Nakamura." Ichirou lied, pointing at Soichiro and himself, respectively.  
>Soichiro closed his mouth, furrowing his brow at the young man.<br>"Shuichi Aizawa."  
>"Matsuda Touta!"<br>"Kanzo Mogi."  
>"Ide Hideki."<br>"Ukita Yamamoto."  
>Soichiro shot a sidelong glance at Ichirou, or Ryo, who was subtly smiling.<br>"Bang." L said, miming shooting a gun at Soichiro.  
>Everybody gave him an odd look.<br>"You should be more careful when giving out your names. Don't risk your lives unnecessarily. We already know that Kira kills with a name and a face."  
>Ichirou's grin grew wider.<br>"But...you can't kill the chief if you really are Kira. I gave you an alias for his name. Mine is fake as well."  
>L raised an eyebrow.<br>"Very good. You know what you're doing. Would you mind telling me your real name? I already know Yagami-San's name, after all."  
>"Why would I? After all, I still don't have confirmation whether or not you're really L."<br>Soichiro raised an eyebrow. This kid was trying to play smart with L?  
>"You will have to take my word for it."<br>Ichirou grinned.  
>"What if I told you I could kill everyone in this room within one minute using no weapons?"<br>"I would say you're either bluffing or Kira."  
>"Well. I can kill everyone in this room, using no weapons, in less than a minute, including you, L. And please don't take that as a threat. I would never actually do it, of course."<br>L's eyebrows rose further.  
>"How would our deaths occur?"<br>Ichirou grinned.  
>"Heart attack."<br>Everybody was staring at Ichirou in horror, especially Soichiro. He was revealing his secret to the entire task force? That was practically suicide.  
>"So you're saying that you're Kira?"<br>"No. I'm not Kira. However, I have the same abilities as Kira does. And since I have those abilities, I know exactly how Kira kills. I can demonstrate, if you'd like."  
>L smirked.<br>"That won't be necessary."  
>"Very well then. Now...if you'll just take this notebook, there's something I'd like to show you."<br>L took the notebook, holding it between his index finger and thumb disdainfully.  
>He literally flew out of his seat when he saw Rem, dropping the notebook and screaming.<br>"That is a Shinigami. Please remain calm, everyone."  
>A murmur ran through the room.<br>"Shinigami? Those are...real? Is it going to kill us? I hope not!"  
>Soichiro put his head in his hands, groaning. He should've known it was a bad idea to give in to Ichirou's request.<br>L was pointing in shock at the seven-foot-tall monster that floated behind Ichirou.  
>"S...Shini...gami?" L stuttered.<br>Ichirou handed the notebook to Matsuda, who was about to take it until Yagami-San grabbed it, shoving it inside his suit jacket.  
>"This notebook is staying with me. Nobody else touches it. Ichirou, you've been acting extremely irresponsibly. I may just arrest you for obstruction of justice."<br>Ichirou smirked.  
>"I guess you don't know that a piece of the Death Note has the full effect of the original, do you?"<br>He patted Matsuda on the shoulder, indicating for him to turn around.  
>Matsuda screamed like a little girl.<br>He touched Aizawa, Mogi, Ide, and Ukita, who had varying reactions from well-concealed fear to sheer terror. None of their reactions could quite beat Matsuda's, though. Ichirou noticed Yagami-San's face turning red in anger.  
>He slipped his hand inside the older man's jacket, attempting to sneak the notebook from under his nose. Ichirou failed, Soichiro batting his hand away effortlessly.<br>"Now, Yagami-San. Shall we explain how Kira kills?"  
>The older man was breathing heavily. He looked like he was ready to commit seppuku from shame. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door violently behind him, not saying a word.<br>"Ah well. That didn't go quite as planned. So! Has everyone gotten a good look at Rem?"  
>Everybody looked at Ichirou with wide eyes.<br>"How can you be so comfortable around a Shinigami? It'll kill you!" Aizawa shouted.  
>"No, actually it won't. I own the notebook, and thus the Shinigami. Rem has to follow me as long as I own the note. If I die, destroy the note, or trade it to another human or Shinigami, she'll leave me. And I'll also forget everything about it. A perk of having a Shinigami is that they can see whether a certain person does or doesn't have a note. And...if you're willing to give the Shinigami half your remaining lifespan, they'll give you Shinigami eyes, which allow you to see people's names and lifespans; the exception is anyone who owns a note, in which case you can't see their lifespans. Oh, and only those of you who've touched the note can see its Shinigami."<br>"Now...moving on. Does anybody have questions about Rem? No? Good. Let's move on to the Death Note."  
>Ichirou had everyone's undivided attention right now. He hoped he could reconcile with Yagami-San later.<br>"Now...here's how this little thing works. If you write someone's name on a page of this note or any part of it while visualizing their face, they will die. If you don't write a cause of death, it will be a heart attack in 40 seconds. If you write a cause of death within those 40 seconds, that death will occur. If you write suicide, the person will commit suicide. Suicide works as a cause of death for everyone. You can control a person's actions before death for up to 23 days. You can write as many or as few details as you like. If the death will affect other people's lifespans, the victim will simply die of a heart attack. If the scenario written is impossible, the victim will just die of a heart attack. Say...someone in the United States commits suicide by jumping off the Eiffel Tower in five minutes. That would result in an impossible scenario. You cannot create a scenario where someone says something that they do not know or does something they would never do before dying. For example...I couldn't have Yagami-San shooting Matsuda-San and then killing himself. If he would never do it normally, then you can't make him do it with the note. A Death Note user can write their own name in the note to commit suicide. If one strikes out the name of the person to be killed with two straight lines, as long as the person hasn't died, the death will be canceled. Those are the basics of Death Note use. All of these rules are written in the front flap of the note."  
>L cocked his head to one side.<br>"So you're saying this is how Kira kills?"  
>"Exactly."<br>"How come you said you could kill everyone in this room, when you know that Watari and I use aliases?"  
>Ichirou smirked knowingly.<br>"I know your real names. I won't tell you how I know. But rest assured...if any one of you attempts to harm Yagami-San, you'll be dead before you know what hit you."  
>L bit his thumb.<br>"Oh, and one last tip. Kira is much closer than you think."  
>Ichirou walked out.<br>"I'll be seeing you later, gentlemen."  
>Everybody was left speechless.<br>"Ryuuzaki, what should we do? This guy could kill all of us in a fit of rage!"  
>"I do not believe he will actually do any of the things he said he would. However, I am greatly interested in what he said regarding Soichiro Yagami. He seems very protective of the man. It's rather odd. He appears impossible to provoke other than by means of threatening Chief Yagami."<br>Mogi nodded.  
>"He's really strange, whoever he is. I don't think he's Kira, though. Kira wouldn't reveal himself to us like that."<br>"I concur, Kanzo-San. He is certainly not Kira. However, he is a person of interest. His last remark also requires some investigation. Much closer than we think is rather vague. He seems to be pointing at a particular group when he says this, almost definitely the task force."  
>"I know! He told me that he thinks Yagami-Kun is Kira! That's who he's talking about!" Matsuda exclaimed.<br>"Yagami-Kun?" L questioned. "That isn't very respectful to your superior, Matsuda-San."  
>"No, no...I mean the chief's son! Light Yagami! Yagami-Kun!"<br>"Ah. I see now. Perhaps you should be clearer when you refer to people with the same family name, Matsuda-San."  
>"Yeah..." Matsuda said, rubbing his neck.<br>"In any case, that is an excellent point. The younger Yagami certainly fits the traits of Kira. Intelligent, a strong sense of justice, dislikes losing greatly, and a very large ego. We should investigate him further."  
>"On another note: I will also be keeping Ryo-Kun under surveillance. No matter whether or not he is Kira, he has a Death Note, or at least some portion of one, and that is highly dangerous. Keep an eye on Yagami-San as well. He must not use the note. This meeting is adjourned. I will contact you later with further instructions, and fake IDs to use when you're investigating Kira suspects."<br>"Hai, Ryuuzaki-San!" The officers saluted.  
>They filed out of the room, each with a different impression of the great detective.<br>Only one of them didn't even think about L. He was Matsuda. His mind wondered about Soichiro Yagami, where he was right now, whether he was happy or depressed. He just couldn't stop thinking about him. He just wanted someone to hold him, tell him everything would be all right. Yagami-San was that kind of person. He could always depend on the man to console and comfort him. He felt so alone right now. So, so alone.  
>"Hey, Matsuda. Feeling alright?"<br>Aizawa put an arm around the younger detective's shoulder.  
>"Better now...thanks."<br> 


	9. Chapter 9

-  
>Chapter 8<br>Theme: Yellowcard-Firewater  
>Reconciliation<p>

As Ichirou went down in the elevator, he thought over his actions so far. It felt as if he was following his instincts. Not considering other people's emotions. He was so stupid. So inconsiderate and unfeeling. He had to make it up to the Chief. He really held the old man close to his heart. He didn't want to be considered a jerk or an idiot by Yagami-San. He wasn't exactly tactful, it was true. But...he had to do what he did in order to provide L with the necessary tips to incriminate Light. No matter how much the Chief disagreed with his methods. And...he hoped Yagami-San would understand that he always meant well. He wished he hadn't made so many mistakes. Wishing didn't change anything, though. He had to mend his ways. Regain the trust he'd lost.

As Soichiro slammed the door behind him, he felt like committing suicide. He was so stupid; he'd dishonored himself and the task force. How could he trust someone who handed a deadly Shinigami notebook around like a party favor? The kid was insane. He couldn't trust him whatsoever. It was better that he had the note with him now. Yes. This was better. He felt safer. As he pushed the hotel's glass door open, the fresh cool summer night air met him headlong. His mind cleared, and he felt refreshed. He leaned on the side of his car, hands in his pockets. He took his glasses off and wiped them.  
>"What are you going to do with the note now, Yagami-San?" A harsh voice said from behind him.<br>Soichiro jumped, dropping his glasses on the pavement, and accidentally stepping on them with a resounding crack.  
>"Who-who are you?"<br>He then noticed the spindly purple Shinigami sitting atop his car.  
>"Don't you remember? I'm Rem. You own my note now. So I'll be following you around until your death or forfeiture of the note."<br>He sighed, bending down to pick up his crushed glasses. He looked mournfully at them, remembering that they'd cost about 25000 yen, and it'd take another week to get a pair. He couldn't see very well without them.

As Soichiro was leaning back once more, looking at the dark night sky, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder, and glanced to his right.  
>"Here. Take mine." Ichirou was giving him his glasses, a sympathetic look on his face.<br>Soichiro put them on. He could see clearly now; amazingly, they both wore the same type of lenses. They weren't exactly the right size, but...it was the thought that counted.  
>He looked at Ichirou, who had a smile on his face.<br>"Thanks..." Soichiro said.  
>Ichirou hugged Soichiro tightly, who gasped slightly, and then relaxed.<br>"I love you, Yagami-San. I'm really sorry...about everything." Ichirou sounded sad. Soichiro had never seen him expressing regret or sadness before. He was greatly affected. This...kid who was so irreverent and haughty was saying he was sorry? And it sounded genuinely like regret. Soichiro just held Ichirou closer.  
>"It's all right, now. I'm not angry at you. Not anymore."<br>Ichirou pulled away from Soichiro.  
>"Do you know...why I was doing all this?"<br>"To catch Kira?"  
>"No. I wanted to save you.<p>Nobody else. Just... You. If everything continued as it was, you would be killed in a raid on a Mafia base in about five years time in a heroic attempt to recover the Death Note, and your son would die about a week or so after you did; shot to death by Matsuda after he revealed himself as Kira. I love you, Yagami-San. I want to see you live. I want to see those you love saved. I wish I could be Kira instead of Light. So you wouldn't have to go through all this grief."  
>Soichiro could see salty tears pooling in Ichirou's crystalline blue eyes. He felt himself tearing up as well. His heart was crushed. He was so cruel. So inconsiderate. So heartless. He never had faith in Ichirou. He thought that the young man was trying to capture Kira, when in reality, he was just trying to save him, protect him, bend fate to extend Soichiro's life, reduce the pain he'd experience. He was simply trying to help in the only way he knew how.<br>"I'm sorry, Ryo-Kun. I.. I'm so sorry..."  
>He held the young man even closer to him. He felt grief and pain and sorrow and, maybe just a little bit of hope. Maybe the future would be different. He would work more closely with Ichirou-er, Ryo. He would trust him. Somehow, he knew that he was no normal college student. He could predict what was going to happen. That was how he knew of the meeting with L. Ryo could, somehow, see the future. How far ahead could he see? At least five years... His father could heal. Did he inherit Hans' powers? Did this have something to do with the Death Note? He had so many questions.<p>But now, just for this moment, he drowned his mind. He wanted to live. It seemed like, before this point, he'd been waiting to die, looking for an honorable way out. Now...now, he wanted to live. He had something, deep inside his heart and soul, worth fighting for. He had a fragment, a shard, a glimmer of hope. It felt so good to have something to live for, someone who really, truly cared and could do, would do something, anything to help. He'd never realized how much he wanted to be rescued, saved from his rut of desperate searching. He had always been lost, seeking an exit, a light at the end of the tunnel, he'd gotten used to the darkness, and now...the light was blindingly bright and wonderful and joyous and it filled a gap in his life that he'd dismissed as natural. As normal.<p>

Ryo felt so comforted by Soichiro. No. Shijuro. That was his name in his mind now. Not Yagami-San. Not Chief. Shijuro. He wasn't a character in a manga, just cel-shaded drawings and thoughts from a writer's mind. He was so real, and warm, and he had emotions and hopes and dreams and fears and sorrows and he'd seen highs and lows, he was so strong yet so weak, so great yet so meek. He was a person. Someone. Out there, and right there. Not just another face in the crowd. Every face in the crowd told a story.  
>But Shijuro's was so unique, it was special, it was rough and distinguished and battered and worn, it wasn't boring and generic and shiny and clean. He had experienced sorrow and joy, love and hatred, acceptance and fear, life and death, good and evil. He had seen things that would scar most people's souls forever. And he came through strong and solid and reliable.<br>He was not just another face in the crowd.  
>And Ichirou-err...Ryo loved that.<br>Someone different. Like him. Like Shijuro.  
>That was rare and worth holding onto and protecting.<br>Ryo felt the clouds in his heart lifting. He could breathe once more. He had no secrets. Nothing. Everything was clear. He wanted to scream to the world, here I am, here I am, kill me or protect me, love me or hate me, I'm still different and so is Shijuro and that won't change.  
>The two gazed up at the bright night sky together.<br>Lit with hopes and dreams, it brought them closer than ever.  
>At that moment, the two abandoned their old names.<br>A fresh start, if you will.  
>"Hey Shijuro. Care for a bite to eat?"<br>"Sounds nice. Where to?"  
>Soichiro and Ichirou, or...as they were known now, Shijuro and Ryo, slid into the driver's and passenger's seats.<br>"I hear there's this really great cafe on the other side of town...it's called the Silver Dragonfly."  
>"Sounds fine by me."<br>Shijuro started up the sedan's engine. As they pulled out of the lot, Ryo smiled slightly. Maybe, just maybe, he could bend fate. Who knew? Maybe L and Watari and Soichiro-er..Shijuro would live. He didn't particularly care about Near or Mello. They weren't bad individuals, but...they just didn't create any sympathy in Ryo. But Shijuro was different. He was heroic, just, strong, loyal, charismatic, protective, caring, kind. And he was a tragic hero. His death had been so terribly heart rending.  
>Ryo closed his eyes and sighed.<br>He'd barely wanted to watch Death Note ever since Shijuro died. But...he trudged through the eight or so remaining episodes. He didn't cheer or feel sad when Light died. He barely felt anything. Light's death was meaningless to him. Shijuro's death meant something. That was when Light died, and Kira took over. Before Shijuro's death, there was always a little bit of Light somewhere deep inside. When Shijuro died, so did Light.  
>"Asahi-San... Please don't die. Don't waste your life. As long as you live, I can save Light."<br>"Don't worry, Ryo-Kun. I won't. I have someone to live for now." He smiled.  
>Ryo Nakamura. That was who he was now. Aliases. Names and faces were what Kira needed to kill them. Ichirou...or... Ryo... wasn't sure that Light knew his real name; thus, he could use a fake without raising too much suspicion. Soichiro Yagami-or, as he was known now, Shijuro Asahi, was definitely known by Light. The alias wouldn't protect Shijuro against the Death Note. But it'd serve another purpose. It would lead him to assume that the investigation team didn't suspect him. After all, if he were a suspect, they'd at least know that his father was Chief of Police, and that the alias was useless against Light, who knew the man's real name. They wouldn't waste their time making up an alias and fake IDs if Light was a suspect.<p>

The Dragonfly Cafe was a small local coffee and pastries shop, in the university district of Tokyo. Its logo was a stylized silver and green dragonfly in a blue circle. Nearby were To-Oh University grounds. It wasn't some big chain, just a local store. It had gotten popular with local high school and college students as a socializing hotspot. It had clean, metal tables, a large pastries window that L was certain to enjoy, and large street-facing windows.

As the two entered the popular cafe, Ryo noticed one of his Japanese high school friends hanging around. He winced. This guy would blow his cover.  
>"Hey, buddy! What's up?"<br>"Oh, not much. Let's talk in private for a second, shall we?"  
>He dragged his friend out of the cafe.<br>"Listen, Renji. I'm investigating Kira. Don't use my old name, because if Kira finds out my real name, I'm dead. He kills with names and faces. Call me Ryo Nakamura now."  
>"Wow...you're investigating Kira? That's cool..." Renji said in quiet awe.<br>"Yeah. Now...will you keep my secret?"  
>"I'll keep your secret. Don't worry."<br>"Good. And...if you see any high school or college students with a black notebook and a demonic look in their eyes, call me."  
>"Uh...huh. Okay then... I'll do that. Good luck, Ryo."<br>"Yeah."  
>"Oh, and who's that guy you're with? Don't tell me he's your dad?"<br>"No...He's Shijuro Asahi. Chief of Police, and a good friend of mine."  
>"Wow... That's something. Well...I'll talk to ya when you're done with...whatever it is you're doing with Asahi-San."<br>"Mmhm. See ya round, Renji."  
>Ryo wiped the sweat from his brow as he settled back into the cafe. That was too close. He needed to avoid anyone who knew him. Which wasn't gonna be easy.<br>Shijuru had already made his order, and was waiting for Ryo. He ordered one green tea, unsweetened, and a small blueberry muffin.  
>Shijuro crisscrossed his fingers, propping his forearms on the table, and putting his chin on his raised hands.<br>"So...what's the idea of us...coming here?"  
>"I just wanted to know a little about you. Ya know...what your childhood was like...that sort of thing."<br>Shijuro raised his eyebrows.  
>"All right then. I was born in 1958, in Tokyo. Lived there all my life. My parents were hardworking. I got a decent education, worked hard. I wasn't a genius, I just studied plenty, got good grades.<br>My entire life was flipped upside down when I was 16. It was some time in the evening. Around 6, I think. My mother told me she'd go out and get some groceries, we were low on something.  
>'Stay here, sweetie. Don't go out; just so nobody tries to break in.'<br>I remember being annoyed. I wanted to go to the dojo with my friends. I was into karate at the time; still am. But I stayed home.  
>About half an hour later, the phone rang. It was my dad. He worked at a local hospital.<br>'...Oh god...Son! Your mother... You have to come here! She's been shot!' That's what he said.  
>I remember being in shock."<br>Shijuro shook his head. It was as if it was yesterday for him. It was a scar he bore till today.  
>"I was disbelieving. I got on the bus, rode to the hospital. I was praying it wasn't true. I suppose I was just in denial. That feeling...when someone important dies. You think 'That's impossible.' But it's the truth."<br>"My father was already grieving when I got there. She'd died from gunshot wounds. Yakuza, they said. The police didn't know who exactly killed her. It's an unsolved case. I still have it in my office somewhere. A reminder of my own inability to protect those I love."  
>He sighed. There were tears in his eyes, and he sniffed.<br>"If I knew that man's name...it would be written in this note, right here. By my own hand. And then I would write my own name. My own death sentence. For murder."  
>He chuckled, a tear dripping from his eye.<br>"I suppose I'd feel guilt if I killed him. But... I'd also feel great satisfaction. A vengeful satisfaction."  
>Ryo stared into Shijuro's face.<br>"And...you'd destroy your soul for that revenge?"  
>"Yes. Yes, I would. I would always do that."<br>"Do you think that's what your mother would want?"  
>Shijuru thought for a moment.<br>"Maybe. Maybe not. I know that's what Dad would want. He was never the same after Mom died. He got depressed, started drinking himself away. Never remarried or had another relationship. He died when I was 29, from acute liver failure caused by excessive alcohol consumption. I was in the police department by then, an investigator. I'd joined in the hopes that I might be able to find my mother's killer. I felt like committing suicide. Seppuku. You know what that is?"  
>Ryo nodded.<br>"Ritual suicide. I'd actually bought the knife. Was really gonna do it until my roommate walked in on me. I tried to hide everything. He figured it out, eventually. Took me to a depression group. Made me feel better. But...still. Sometimes, when I'm working on a really gruesome case, I get that doom desire. I wish I was dead, with my parents. I hope...no, I know they're somewhere better."  
>Ryo shuddered. Shijuro's story was so sorrow-filled. It was amazing how he wasn't bitter and angry at others, how he had the strength to deal with so many cases after he was the victim of such a vicious crime himself.<br>Shijuru leaned forwards once more.

"In 2002, I was involved in an international Yakuza drug smuggling case. Landed dozens of criminals in jail. I hope, I pray that maybe one of them is the criminal who shot my mother. But I can never know for certain. They're all dead now. Killed by Kira."  
>He scoffed.<br>"I think sometimes that maybe Kira's...good. Helping clean this rotten world. But then I remember. All the people who could be falsely accused. Might have been innocent. And then I remember how many lives Kira's destroyed. Even criminals have families, I think. Their families still care about them, don't they? Kira is tearing the world apart. Destroying it. Piece by piece. Not cleaning it."

"I agree 100 percent, Shijuro. Kira's simply someone's ego working overtime. Kira thinks he's a god. A force of justice. But he isn't. He's just ruining. He's dividing people into two sides, tearing families apart. Pro-Kira and anti-Kira. It has to end."  
>Shijuro sighed.<br>"That isn't as easy as you make it sound, Ryo-Kun. It's dangerous, difficult, and will require much sacrifice. Are you ready to give all you have?"  
>"Yes. Yes, I am."<br>"Well, then. If you're willing, then so am I. Let's go."  
>Ryo and Shijuro smiled at each other.<br>Their friendship was reforged.  
>Their hearts were at peace with each other.<br>Reconciliation was complete.  
> <p>


	10. Chapter 10

-  
>Chapter 9<br>You Can't Escape With a Name  
>Theme: High and Mighty Color-Ichirin no Hana (Bleach Opening 2)<p>

It was raining. Hard. Ryo and Shijuro dashed for the car, trying to keep from getting too wet from the torrent that fell from the heavens.  
>"Crazy, huh...just an hour ago it was clear." Ryo noted.<br>"A rainstorm was predicted for tonight, you know." Shijuro replied.  
>"Hm. Doesn't make it any less strange."<br>"True. So, shall I drop you off at home?"  
>"That's very generous of you, Asahi-San. Thanks."<br>"No problem. You're not too far away from my home anyway."  
>The drive was mostly quiet, except for the heavy rapping of rain on the car's body. The drops made beautifully ephermal patterns on the glass of the windshield as they splashed and melded with one another. The streetlights shifting through the windshield made those varying droplets dance on the interior of the car, a shimmering orange tapestry of light that always changed.<br>People didn't appreciate rain enough, Ryo thought.  
>"Ryo..."<br>"Hm?"  
>"How do you... Know the future? You said I would've died in five years."<br>Ryo sighed inwardly.  
>"It's a long story. But, the gist of it is that all of these events were predicted in a manga several years ago. Once I picked up the Death Note, which was before Light got his, all references to that series disappeared. Only I could remember it. Nobody else. I know it sounds stupid, but...that's the truth of it. In the manga, L is killed by Light, and one of L's successors kidnaps Sayu, your daughter. He wants a Death Note in exchange for her."<br>At this, Ryo noticed Shijuro tense up, his knuckles white from his tightened grip on the steering wheel.  
>"Should I go on?"<br>"Continue."  
>"You give him the Death Note, and, later on, wracked by guilt, you and the rest of the task force raid the facility where the Death Note is, recovering it. You make a trade for the Shinigami Eyes in order to find out the Mafia boss's real name. His name is Mihael Keehl. But you can't bring yourself to write his name. One of his goons shoots you in the back. You die from bullet wounds in the hospital, Light begging you to write the name. You can see Light's lifespan, and so you die happily, believing that Light isn't Kira. You don't write the name. Your soul survives, I guess. I could never tell whether Light was truly saddened by your death or not."<br>He looked at Shijuro's face. He had on an emotionless mask. Nothing showed through.

"That's pathetic." The mustached man scoffed.

Ryo looked at Shijuro with bewilderment.  
>"Pathetic? You die a hero, and you call it pathetic? What's wrong with you?"<br>Shijuro gave Ryo a glance.  
>The young man could see a flame burning brightly within the police chief's soul. His normally soft cedar-brown eyes had a harsh red cast to them.<br>"I've changed, Ryo. Soichiro Yagami is dead. I am Shijuro Asahi now. I'm not naive or gullible. Neither Light or L will be able to play me for a fool. Back then...I was looking for a reason to die. Now...I've found a reason for living. You can't save me or stop me. You think you know me. You don't know me. Not in the slightest." He hissed.  
>Ryo was surprised by the vehemence with which Shijuro spoke these words. He had never seen this aggressive, angry side of the man.<br>"Shijuro... Please. Calm down. I didn't mean to provoke you."  
>"Provoke me? You haven't provoked me. I just want you to remember what I say. Here we are. I expect to see you tomorrow at the station, bright and early. 8:00 AM sharp. I'll have a badge and ID made with your alias on them."<br>"Thanks, Asahi-San."  
>"You can call me Chief now. I am your boss, after all. And don't expect me to tolerate slacking just because you're a friend. You'll be fired immediately if I catch you napping on the job, so get your sleep tonight. Good luck, Ryo Nakamura."<br>Ryo stepped out of Shijuro's car, which took off as soon as the door was closed.  
>He sighed as the rain poured on his head, pelting him with tiny cold bullets of water.<br>Ryo ran up the stairs to the apartment, running into his dad, who was walking down the same stairs.  
>"Ichirou? What's up?"<br>"Dad. Don't call me Ichirou. Call me Ryo. I need the alias. I'm investigating Kira, and I can't have him knowing my real name. My name from now on is Ryo Nakamura."  
>"Why'd you pick such a lame name? Why not...Raiden or something awesome like that?"<br>Ryo sighed.  
>"I can't pick a name that stands out too much. Something like Raiden would be so obviously fake, it would defeat the purpose of using an alias."<br>"But what about Nakamura?"  
>"Got that from a video game." He grinned.<br>Hans just scratched his head and looked confused.  
>"Well...anyway, I was just going out for a quick smoke. You should tell your mom about that whole thing. I bet she'd be really proud of you."<br>Hans continued walking down the stairs, then he suddenly froze.  
>"Wait...did you say you were investigating Kira?"<br>"Yeah."  
>"So that means...you're a cop now?"<br>"More like an investigator, but yes, I can arrest people, if that's what you're asking."  
>Hans' eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his cranium.<br>"I don't know whether to run screaming or hug you to death."  
>Ryo grinned.<br>"I'll just go tell Mom then. See ya, Dad. And...you should really quit smoking. Won't do your health any good."  
>Hans shrugged.<br>"Eh. I don't smoke any more than once a month. On the day we moved here. The 17th. I dunno. Guess it's just one of those good-luck quirks of mine."  
>"I think your lungs would beg to differ. See ya, Dad."<br>"Mmhm."  
>Ryo opened the door of the house, and noticed his mom sitting on the floor with her laptop reading the news.<br>"Hi Mom."  
>"Oh, hi, sweetie. How'd the interview go?" She looked up at him expectantly.<br>"Guess what?"  
>"What? You were rejected for being completely unskilled?" She said sarcastically.<br>"Actually, the exact opposite. I got the job, and I start tomorrow."  
>"That's amazing, Ichirou! I'm so proud of you!"<br>"Uhh...you can't call me Ichirou anymore, by the way."  
>"How come?"<br>"Well...you heard about how Kira kills with names and faces? I have an alias now. Ryo Nakamura. I don't want Kira to find out my name. Even if he knows my face, he can't kill me because he doesn't know my real name."  
>"I see. Did you hear about the riots happening in Kyoto? Kira versus anti-Kira protesters fighting. Twenty people got killed by gunfire when one of the protestors pulled a gun. Apparently he was a cop. Got killed by the mob when his weapon jammed. Poetic irony." She gave Ryo a disturbing grin.<br>"And...moral of the story?" Ryo cocked his head slightly.  
>"Don't take on too many people with a non-automatic weapon and a small clip size."<br>"I'll...try to keep that in mind..."  
>Ryo slowly backed away to his room, which was furnished with a bed, desk, and bookcase now. The bookcase was filled with magazines, books, and video game cases. The desk held his laptop, a lamp, along with a few pens, pencils, and a black writing notebook he used to take notes and sketch plans.<br>As Ryo changed into his kimono and brushed his teeth, he planned out how he'd catch Kira. He knew Matsuda would most likely have informed L of his suspicions towards Light. Ryo also knew that L would want to put both him and Shijuro under surveillance. He had a sheet of the note tucked away safely in a hidden compartment of his

wallet, and the old man had the full note. Shijuro wouldn't let someone get their hands on the notebook, not over his dead body. Ryo knew that much. He just hoped Light didn't figure out that Shijuro-his own father-was a Death Note owner.  
> <div> 


	11. Chapter 11

-  
>Chapter 10<br>Theme: Yellowcard-Gray  
>Shades of Gray<p>

Shijuro Asahi trudged up the stairs to his house, sticking his key into the old lock. The tongue of the lock gave a solid clack as it opened, allowing the man entrance into his home.  
>"Sachiko...I'm home." He announced, his voice tired.<br>As he took off his shoes and jacket, so did he take off his protective alias. At home, he had to be Soichiro Yagami, loving father and husband. At work, he was the Chief to his subordinates, and Shijuro Asahi to outsiders. And...to Light, he was Otou-San.  
>Just..."Father-sir." A cold, impersonal name. It didn't show any warmth or love.<br>"Tou-San! You're home!" The auburn-haired boy exclaimed.  
>This was odd. He'd dropped the O in the beginning, which indicated formality. Without the honorative, Light was shifting into a more casual form of address; that didn't fit his character at all. He'd never called his father by anything closer or more loving than Otou-San.<br>And what was stranger was the way he was coming to greet his father. He never left his homework to speak with anybody.  
>He gave Soichiro a warm hug, which the father accepted gladly.<br>Outside, he could be Shijuro Asahi. But here, at home, he was Soichiro Yagami, and he was loving and caring. Especially towards his beautiful bright son.  
>He shuddered as he felt something cold and sharp prick his upper back, right between his shoulders.<br>He detached himself from Light, taking his appearance in entirely, looking for a pin or something of the sort.  
>Soichiro noticed the tip of a needle peeking out from behind Light's shirt cuff.<br>It was far too late to do anything at that point. The tranquilizer was already starting to course through his veins.  
>As Soichiro realized what was happening, his suspicions grew into a feeling of betrayal.<br>He staggered, collapsing, Light catching him dramatically, a facade of shock replacing his normally calm and relaxed features.

Damn it. The kid knew how to act. He could even fool his victim into thinking his act of concern was genuine.  
>"Tou-San! Stay with me! What's wrong..." Light's panicked voice faded away into Soichiro's grayed-out mind. He couldn't think, couldn't feel, couldn't see, couldn't hear. It was all gray. Gray skies. Clouding everything that used to be so clear. He could barely make out a thread of thought through the haze.<br>What kind of a rotten world was this, where he couldn't even trust his own son?  
>His heart ached.<br>He felt like he was drowning in a fog so thick he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. His mind struggled to keep afloat in the tranquilized ocean of gray air he was sinking into.  
>Slowly, he let go. It would hurt him less later if he slipped away now. Right? Was that how it worked? He didn't even remember now... there was that time...when he'd had surgery to get the shotgun pellets out of his legs... and the katana slash across his chest... that hurt... his head hurt... his body hurt... was that now or then? It didn't matter anymore. He fell asleep, sinking into the gray smoke of unconsciousness.<p>

Light noted that the tranquilizer he used had a rapid effect; only took about 20 seconds to start messing with his victim's mind. Additionally, it caused amnesia of the events that occurred shortly before the drug entered the victim's brain, preventing them from being recorded in long-term memory. Another nice thing about it was the fact that, if the victim was tired, it could result in deep sleep for five to six hours. Remarkably convenient for his purposes of thoroughly searching his father's clothes and possessions for remnants of the Death Note.  
>"Great job, Ryuk. You have a whole bag of apples waiting for you over there on the table."<br>"Hyuk, hyuk. This is funny. He's sleeping like a baby."  
>Light grunted as he dragged his father's lifeless body upstairs. Dammit. This wasn't easy. But what did he expect? The man was six foot four and weighed 250 pounds. He wasn't exactly a 10 lb bag of rice.<br>After about ten minutes of struggling, Light managed to get him into his bedroom, grumbling.  
>He lifted the unconscious form of his father onto the bed. Light had exerted himself quite a bit now; his face was red.<br>"Let's see what you've got hidden away in there, shall we?"  
>He patted down his father's body, raising an eyebrow as he felt something stiff and rectangular under the man's shirt. He undid the tie, and unbuttoned the shirt, smirking as he pulled a Death Note out.<br>Ryuk was really useful sometimes. He'd sent him to spy on his father for a while, and the Shinigami had gotten him a jackpot.

He laid back on the bed, flipping through the note. It was empty, remarkably. That either meant the old man had destroyed the used pages, or he hadn't used it. Most likely hadn't used it. Another Shinigami had appeared nearby. Purple, gauze wrapped over its forehead. Spindly body and arms, as if they were made of human backbones. She looked pissed-off, and didn't even say anything.  
>Light smirked. He felt for anything of value in his father's pockets, taking his wallet, keys, watch, and removing the SIM card from his phone. He dragged the man's body back downstairs, cuffing his hands to create an easy handle before he lugged Soichiro's body out the door. He decided to drive him to a back-alley near the trashy bar across the street from the station. He shoved the lifeless ragdoll of a body into the backseat of the car, somewhat annoyed with all the lugging and lifting he was doing now.<br>He drove to the bar across from the station, parking where he wouldn't be too noticeable dragging a seemingly-dead man into an alley.  
>Obviously, the watch had to be dropped into a sewer. The wallet went into a garbage bin after being emptied of its contents. The contents went into a different sewer a few yards down. Light tossed the cellphone SIM card into a third sewer.<br>He thought a little bit, and decided on removing one of the handcuffs. It was too cruel to do something like that to someone this kind and lovable. He should at least be able to have one hand free. Light unclipped one cuff from his left hand, and clipped it to a metal pipe. He popped open the trunk, and was pleasantly surprised to find a blanket there. He spread it over his father's unconscious form. He didn't want him to die of hypothermia, after all. He wasn't a criminal...and besides...Light still loved him. He was doing this so he wouldn't have to kill him later on.  
>He clenched his teeth as he picked up a glass bottle, breaking it over the poor man's head to complete the illusion of him having been robbed and knocked out. It hurt him to do this. It really did. Soichiro looked so sad and weak in this situation. He looked like a victim rather than a hero. It tore at his heart.<br>He leaned down, giving him a light, sweet kiss on his cheek, smoothing his tousled brown hair and adjusting his glasses. Why did he ever think that hurting his father like this was a good idea? He didn't hate him, did he? He was a good person, overall. He didn't deserve this. But it was for his own safety. Light wrapped the blanket gently around Soichiro's motionless body.  
>Light sighed. He hoped his father wouldn't get fired from his post as Chief of Police for being found like this.<p>

Light took the metro back home, and slipped into bed to catch a few winks before he got the inevitable news that his father, the Chief of Police, was found unconscious, beaten, and robbed of most of his possessions in an alleyway across from the police station.

"Ugh..."

Shijuro Asahi felt wasted. He was lying in an alleyway, a broken beer bottle on the icy concrete next to him. It was about 6 A.M.  
>Someone had seen fit to wrap him with a blanket...<br>His shirt was unbuttoned and his hair was tousled. He wondered what had happened last night...  
>"Bloody hell..."<br>He was in an alleyway across the street from the police station, a beer bottle broken over his head, one of his hands cuffed to a water pipe, with nothing of value in his pockets, and he had a horrid hangover. What on earth happened last night?  
>The last thing he remembered was dropping Ryo off at his place... Did he go to the bar, get drunk, and get wasted?<br>His current situation certainly implied that.  
>The man sighed and ran a hand through his hair, noting that he had a throbbing headache that wasn't from the hangover... probably from the bottle that was apparently smashed over his cranium.<br>He groped around in his pockets, looking for a pen or other small, pointed object to open his handcuffs. He happened upon an old ball-point pen, which he cracked open his constraint with.  
>Damn...it was cold. He didn't have his wallet, obviously. For some reason, whoever had mugged him decided against taking the keys to his black Lancer Evolution X...which was fortunate, for once.<br>He grumbled as he buttoned his shirt, doing his tie. He'd have to go home and change into fresh clothes before work started...  
>He climbed into the car, a vein popping on his forehead as the fuel gauge displayed a quarter-full tank.<br>What kind of a prank was this? Was this Ryo's idea of a practical joke?  
>Once he got home and changed into fresh clothes, being careful not to wake up Sachiko, it was about 7:00; thus, he drove back to the police station to start his work on the investigation.<br>This was bloody annoying. He'd get that Ryo...he probably slipped him something while he was at that cafe...to get that bloody Death Note back...  
>Matsuda looked up as the Chief stalked into the office, a frustrated expression on the older man's face. He was about to greet him cheerfully, but wisely decided to keep quiet.<br>"All right, listen up." The police chief's voice boomed through the central room,

where almost all of the investigation members were gathered-except for Ryo.  
>Everybody immediately dropped what they were doing and stood alert listening to the Chief.<br>"I'd like for all of you to begin regularly using aliases, even between ourselves. We can't afford to slip up and have Kira discover our real names. I will be using Shijuro Asahi as mine. Please call me that from now on. Additionally, we have a new member on our team. His alias is Ryo Nakamura; I won't tell you his real name for now. Don't go easy on him just because he's new; he can work as hard as anyone else, and should. Ryo is apparently very proficient in technology, and you should thus apply computer security measures to protect anything you may wish to keep private. Finally, I have lost my identification cards; if anyone finds them, please let me know. Any questions? No? Good. Let's get to work."  
>At exactly 7:57, Ryo walked through the front door, making his way to the investigation offices. He ran into Shijuro walking out briskly, and he stood at attention as the man stopped to talk to him.<br>"Good morning, sir."  
>"Don't 'sir' me. I know what you did." Shijuro said intimidatingly.<br>"What did I do, Chief?"  
>"You slipped me something when we were at the cafe and took the Death Note, that's what."<br>Ryo's eyes widened. He didn't do anything of the sort... Why would Asahi-San say... Oh shit. Light got the second note.  
>"Crap! Light got the second note?" Ryo exclaimed in surprise.<br>"What do you mean, Light? He doesn't have anything to do with this."  
>Ryo shook his head.<br>"Sir...I'd like to explain something. Light has a Death Note; thus, he has a Shinigami. Since he has a Shinigami, he can ask the Shinigami to spy on people for him; he apparently noticed that you have a note. Somehow...he got hold of it. I can't see your Shinigami anymore, and I have a page of the note. Since you've touched the note, you should be able to see Rem floating above me if I owned it. But... I don't have it. Even if I left it at home, Rem would still follow me. So... I cannot own the note."  
>"All right then...You're correct. I'm... sorry for falsely accusing you." He replied, somewhat stiffly.<br>"Not a problem, Chief. What's on the agenda for today?"  
>"We have a new wave of killings; we'll need you to start off with some paperwork and filing. I know it's not your area of expertise, but we're swamped with unfiled documents."<br>"OK, Asahi-San. I'll get right on that..." Ryo said, looking disappointed. Shijuro didn't seem to notice.  
>As he worked on filing autopsy after autopsy, he thought over possible means of Light having obtained Shijuro's note. He might've slunk into his room as he slept and taken it from him, or... Why did Shijuro specifically accuse him of slipping him a drug?<br>"Asahi-San...why'd you accuse me of specifically drugging you instead of just stealing the note?"  
>Shijuro sighed.<br>"I'll tell you over the lunch break...in private."  
>So it was embarrassing then. Not exactly Light's style... but then again, he'd never heard of Light stealing something, so he didn't know whether the teen would go for a simple or complex plan. He really hoped Light didn't give the note to someone else...or else they'd be chasing two Kiras, one of whom might just go for the Shinigami eye deal. If that happened, they were essentially screwed. Their only chance was if L had Light under surveillance; they might be able to catch him if he tried passing the note to another Kira.<br>He was relying entirely on L now; the ball was no longer on his side of the court...  
> <div> 


	12. Chapter 12

-Part 1 end-

This is where the story of Tokyo Police Chief Soichiro Yagami and Japanese-American college student Ichirou Carson stops temporarily, and the story of American FBI agent Ray Penber and British SAS Captain John Price begins. Don't worry about Ichirou and Soichiro; they'll make their respective appearances in due time...although it might not be quite as you expect.

-Part 2 beginning-

Chapter 11  
>Theme: 30 Seconds to Mars-Anarchy in Tokyo<br>New Faces

"Yes...announce the arrival of 1,500 total FBI and SAS agents for a joint operation... No... No, we'll only send about 11 FBI and one SAS captain. Johnathan Price? He'll do fine. I'd like to have Ray Penber on the FBI side; pair him up with Price. Yes. That's right. Those two will be tailing the Kira suspect... No, I'd like Penber to do most of the actual investigating. No, Price is just there for backup. Yes, I've seen his record. Quite good for this mission. In one week? Excellent. They will be briefed then."  
>L hung up.<br>"May I ask who that was?" Watari questioned.  
>"Interpol directors. I'm sending a number of FBI agents to tail Light Yagami; he is a prime Kira suspect. We do not need to observe Mr. Nakamura or Mr. Asahi as closely; the rest of the investigation team will keep an eye on them for us."<br>"And, if I may be so bold as to ask, why did you specifically request an SAS agent?"  
>"Because I had a certain individual in mind. If they had suggested a different agent, I would have specifically asked for Mr. Price. He has an excellent record; his most recent mission has been a solo op on a tanker in the Bering Sea carrying non-fissionable nuclear material. He successfully destroyed the hazardous material and exfiltrated, despite extreme weather conditions."<br>He brought up a statistics list on the computer's screen.

Captain John Price, birthdate October 18th, 1971. Age as of today: 39. Height 5' 11". Weight 195 lbs. Short brown hair, olive green eyes. Thick graying brown beard. Preferred weapon: M1911 .45. Expert at CQC, combat knife use, and stealth. Nickname: "The English Bear." Current location: London, England.

A small flat in the rougher parts of London...  
>"AAchoo!" The bearlike man sneezed loudly. It was about 11:30 PM, and he felt like he was coming down with a bad case of influenza.<br>"God damn it..."  
>He knew he should have spent the Â£15 and gotten the flu immunization... His head ached, and his nose was stuffy.<br>He went to the bathroom, washed his face, running a hand over his short, thinning light-brown hair, stroking his fingers through his soft brown beard.  
>Price only truly felt alive when he was on assignments, dangerous ones. The mundane reality of day-to-day life didn't appeal to him. That was why he'd joined the armed forces. He didn't have anything to look forward to when he came back, except the next assignment. The next deployment. The next job.<br>He had the flu, now, so he wouldn't be able to go on any assignments for the next two weeks until he was fully recovered.  
>He slammed his fist into the countertop in frustration.<br>He loved the thrill of the hunt; camping out with a Dragunov, shooting around cover with an M4A1 SOPMOD, picking off stragglers with his pride and joy, an M1911 Custom. Anything would be better than sitting around here, nothing to occupy all of his senses, his physical abilities, his mental capacity. Even a mundane job...  
>He sighed and sat down in the tiny living roomdining room, flipping on the small TV, seeing if there was any news on.  
>"...and world leaders are strongly denouncing Kira as even more deaths occur, sparking fears that corrupt politicians may be next. More after this."<br>He flicked it off, putting his head in his hands. He greatly detested Kira; there was practically an international manhunt going on for him, and he wasn't invited.  
>He grumbled as he went off to his tiny bedroom, peeling off his pants and long-sleeved black t-shirt, and rolling into bed. Kira was messing up the world. Unbalancing it. Everybody was afraid now; names and faces were the new means of warfare, and he didn't like it one bit. He wanted to be somewhere...a war, a conflict zone, an operation, with his squad. His only true friends. The only people he felt responsible for. The only ones who'd watch his back, whom he could feel safe with, even in the middle of a warzone.<br>Slowly, he fell into a tumultuous sleep, a handgun in his mind's grip, firing away at enemies, ghosts in his dreams. Fevered visions that dissolved into others, the hostile forces this time riddling his body with sniper fire, and another time killing his squad, leaving him alone, hiding behind a rock, firing a few haphazard shots at dozens of enemies who were closing in on him, and they were going to devour him, tear him to pieces, pull him from end to end. And he wasn't afraid for his life; that wasn't the worst of it. There was a helicopter landing, gunning down the bloodthirsty troops, coming to rescue him.  
>He could not bring himself to face his commanding officer and announce that his squad was dead, and he was alive.<br>"Price...you swore. Every man comes home alive. You swore, didn't you?"  
>He was the captain. He went down with the ship. The soldiers he commanded were his responsibility. If one of them died, it was his fault. A result of his irresponsibility. If all of them died, he should have been killed alongside them, protecting and aiding them with his last breath. That was how it worked for Captain Price.<p>

He wasn't a hero to most people. If anybody knew what he'd done. What he'd seen. Who he'd killed. How many lives he'd taken. They would want him dead, a cold-hearted war criminal who deserved to rot.  
>But to his squad...he was a true hero. He'd saved the lives of his squadmates several times. He inspired absolute loyalty. He was rough on the outside...but he truly cared for his soldiers. His boys. When he did joint ops, he was always the leader. In control. At the head of the assault. He took point, was always on the offensive. Covered his mates' backs when they were retreating, heading for the extraction point. He didn't prefer one squad member over another. All of them were equal; everyone got the same amount of attention from him.<br>And...he followed orders. He didn't betray or backstab anyone. Never did double-agent missions. He never had the resolve. Couldn't bring himself

to kill soldiers who'd looked up to him like that. He would crack. Break. Shatter. Explode into a billion fragments, particles of glass soaked in his blood.  
>Go rogue.<br>He held his squad at the highest regard. No matter which force, which army, what side, his squad were at the top of his priorities. If he were to start his own squadron and recruit soldiers...he would be a global threat, the leader of a stateless mercenary army with absolute loyalty, extreme training and conditioning, fighting for what they believed was right.  
>But he never had delusions of grandeur...which was fortunate for the world at large.<p>The next morning, the captain woke up to the noise of his cellphone ringing. He was a light sleeper; had to be if he was in the SAS. Price rolled to one side of his bed, picked up the phone, and sat up, noting that the number was blocked.<br>That was interesting.  
>He answered the call.<br>"Captain Price, speaking."  
>"Hello, Mr. Price." An electronic, distorted voice was speaking. Whoever was calling was using a voice filter in an attempt to hide their identity.<br>"Who am I talking to?" He growled into the handset.  
>"You will be needed in Tokyo in 3 days' time. We will provide more information once you complete the following tasks."<br>"Who the hell is this?" The man barked gruffly.  
>"It seems you do not recognize my voice. I am L."<br>L, huh? World's greatest detective asking his help? What was this, some prank?  
>"MacTavish...if that's you...God damn it you're in for some pain."<br>"I am not MacTavish. I am L. You are needed in Tokyo for...an assignment of the utmost priority. You will be provided with a ticket and an alias. A passport along with the ticket will be dropped off at your apartment on 125 Neil St. in approximately 2 hours. You will be using the alias I give you now to get on your flight. Are you ready to take note?"  
>"Shoot."<br>"Your alias is Ethan Miller."  
>"Got it."<br>"The tickets are for British Airways Flight 238, departing Wednesday at 6:45 from Heathrow. You have 3 days to pack any equipment you want to take with you, including projectile weaponry, knives, and ordnance. We will provide proper security clearance for your weapons. Do not declare any of your items. Any additional gear will be procure on site. Do not, under any circumstances, give out your real name to anyone. John Price is dead. You are Ethan Miller from now on. You will be briefed once you arrive in Tokyo. Good luck, Mr. Miller."  
>The call ended.<br>Well. Any assignment was better than nothing. And if it ended up being an ambush, he could handle himself.  
>At around 9:00, the passport and ticket were dropped off by a man wearing all-black clothes and a trench coat. Price...or...Miller didn't bother saying a word to him; the soldier just took the envelope, flipped through the passport, and looked at his ticket. Once he was satisfied they were the real deal, he gave the agent a nod and closed the door.<br>Over the next three days, he cleaned and tested his weapon of choice for this mission, his beloved M1911 Custom, in addition to packing bulletproof armor and gear. Since this mission was in a fairly populated area, he decided to forgo the standard SAS uniform for slightly less identifying clothing. He wore a bluish-gray pixel-patterned load-bearing vest, a close-fitting gray combat jacket, and concrete-gray pixel-patterned synthetic cargo pants. He carried a small black military backpack. To top it all off, he wore a MARPAT slouch hat. Although he was easily identifiable as a soldier, there were no clear indications as to which country or armed forces he hailed from.  
>The M1911 was packed in a hard metal case inside his large desert-camouflage duffel bag, along with a Kevlar vest and a few changes of clothes.<br>Amazingly, he didn't have a lick of trouble getting through security. The tickets were for coach class, which didn't bother the captain in the slightest. Coach was better than a hard helicopter seat that was open to the freezing-cold mountain air, after all.  
>The flight itself went smoothly; however, airline food didn't exactly agree with the man's stomach. Miller wasn't picky by any stretch of the imagination; he just ate whatever he could get. It wasn't the taste or texture that got to him. It was the effect on his digestive tract. He was used to eating military rations, but this stuff just turned his guts inside out. A nasty case of the flu didn't help him any.<br>As he stepped off in Tokyo International, his eyes reflexively sought out writing in English, which was sparse and somewhat vague.  
>His attention was pulled away from airport signs by the droning ring of his cellphone from inside his vest pocket. He picked it up.<br>"Captain Miller, speaking."  
>"Welcome to Tokyo, Captain Miller. Please go to gate 37; you will be met by an escort there. The escort will be wearing a red baseball cap. Your bag has already been collected, and will be provided to you later on."<br>"You said you'd fill me in on the assignment when I got here. What's with all the delaying?"  
>"You will be briefed shortly, Mr. Miller. Please be patient."<br>His gut churned. He felt like he'd been set up, pulled into something he didn't want to be a part of.  
>"Is this a solo op?"<br>"No. You will be working with a team. That is all I can tell you at this point. Please proceed to the rendezvous location, and you will be briefed shortly thereafter."  
>"This feels like a trap."<br>"Trust me. It is not."  
>"Why should I?"<br>"Do you want to capture Kira?"  
>The soldier's keen green eyes widened at this. Kira? This entire matter was about Kira? He should've known. He should have bloody known. He'd probably be working with the Japanese police, then. If that was what L meant by joint operation...<br>"I'm not working with civvies, if that's what you're thinking."  
>"You won't be."<br>"Who, then?"  
>"You will be briefed later. Please continue to the RV."<br>The call ended.  
>He growled slightly, coughing and spitting bloody mucus into a bin. The sneezing was gone, on the bright side. But now his chest was congested, and his throat was severely strained from the cough he was struggling with. His voice was hoarse, and his throat burned with the bursting of tiny capillaries every time he hacked up blood.<br>He wandered around the airport a bit, exchanging some of his British Pounds for Japanese Yen, and buying himself a steaming hot green tea from one of the airport cafes.  
>The hot liquid soothed his throat, the burning sensation dissolving away with each sip of the almost medicinal drink. He never guessed he'd appreciate a cup of tea this much.<br>What a relief.  
>As Miller approached Gate 37, he immediately noticed a woman wearing a bright red baseball cap, her black ponytail bobbing through the back. She seemed to notice him as well, since she began approaching him through the crowd. Once she was right next to him, she leaned towards Miller.<br>The captain felt the blood flowing to his face involuntarily, a red hue tingeing his cheeks.  
>"Follow me, Mr. Miller." She said quietly. A deadly, venomous quiet.<br>The blood rushed away from his face, leaving him pale as a ghost. This woman...whoever she was...somehow managed to scare him shitless with a single sentence.  
>He nodded and followed her as she navigated through the crowds towards the exit of the airport. As they stepped out into the fresh Tokyo breeze, Miller noticed a black car with tinted windows waiting for them, the engine running.<br>"Get in the back."  
>The SAS man complied wordlessly. This was beginning to feel less like an operation and more like a kidnapping.<br>As he sat down stiffly in the rear-right seat, the driver spoke roughly. He wore dark shades, so Captain Miller couldn't identify him.  
>"You got the package?"<br>"Yep. Let's go."  
>As the car took off, the woman handed Miller the metal case which he knew contained his M1911 and concealed-carry holster. He opened the case, equipping the holster.<br>"Don't try anything funny. Or else." She patted her belt, which held a polished metal Desert Eagle .50 Cal.  
>A round from a Deagle would almost certainly be unsurvivable, especially at this range. He wasn't even wearing a bulletproof vest. Not like that would make much difference...they probably had armor piercing bullets loaded in those things.<br>"Left here."  
>"Got it."<br>Miller's eyes widened as he looked to his left. A truck was speeding through the intersection they were passing through, and the glasses-wearing driver seemed oblivious to the fact that the car, containing them, was in its direct path.  
>"LOOK O-" His scream was cut short as metal smashed and twisted around him, turning the vehicle into a wheeled coffin. Miller's head smashed into something hard, and he blacked out.<br> 


	13. Chapter 13

-  
>Chapter 12<br>Theme: The Prodigy-First Warning  
>Crash Landing<p>The soldier opened his keen eyes, blinking away the haze in his mind. He reflexively reached for his pistol. Still there. He spot checked himself for damage. Not much. A few bruises and cuts. He checked his situation. He was inside a burning car, with two other people who might or might not be alive.<br>He forced the door open. Ran across to the other side of the car.  
>It was a total wreck. Blood all over the driver's side, metal twisted and contorted into lethal blades. The driver's neck was slashed open. Miller felt for a pulse. Nothing. The man was dead.<br>He went to the rear seat.  
>The woman wasn't obviously injured, but she was unconscious, and wasn't breathing. Her condition might be worse than it seemed. He knew that, in cases like this with no external injuries, there might still be internal bleeding or broken bones, as well as concussions. He struggled to pry the twisted metal away, eventually succeeding at pulling her through the window, his hands getting slashed by the shards of glass and metal in the process.<br>He heaved her over his shoulders, moving away from the car as quickly as his body allowed him to. There was gasoline pooling on the ground, and he didn't want to be anywhere near the car when it exploded.  
>The gasoline ignited when he was about 10 feet away from the car, rapidly engulfing the wreck in a red-hot inferno. He moved faster, the adrenaline pumping through his body, his heart rate rising sharply. He could feel the flames licking at the back of his neck. When he was a safe distance away from the car, he laid the woman down, and grabbed his cell, dialing 112. As the phone connected, he attempted artificial respiration, CPR, every method he knew to revive her. Slowly...steadily...she began breathing again.<br>The truck driver stood, paralyzed in shock, staring at the scene that had just unfolded in front of him. This man...had just...sprinted 30 feet while injured, and carrying a person on his shoulders, and closely escaped being severely burnt by the explosion of gasoline from the wreck. Who was this guy?  
>Miller heard sirens, and felt a shot of relief go through him. The medics could do a better job than he could; battlefield medicine could only do so much. As the paramedics pulled the woman into the ambulance, he panted from the physical feat he'd just pulled off.<br>A medic walked up to him, asking him something in Japanese.  
>Miller shrugged.<br>"I don't speak Japanese. Talk to me in English."  
>The man called over someone else, apparently a police officer.<br>"Are you all right, sir?" The mustached officer asked.  
>The man looked about his age, maybe a little older. He was definitely taller, and had a heavier build than he did. Brown hair, dark brown eyes, wore glasses. He could probably take him on in a fistfight.<br>"I'm fine." Miller said, standing up and brushing himself off.  
>"You don't seem fine. Your hands are bleeding, and you have bruises on your head."<br>"You think I don't know myself?" The soldier drew himself up to his full height, moving into the older man's face.  
>"I wasn't attempting to cast doubt on your judgement. I apologize if I offended you." The taller man shrunk back a bit. Despite Miller's smaller stature, he was much fiercer and more intimidating as an opponent.<br>"Sod off, civvy." He growled menacingly.  
>"Civvy?" The police officer said through clenched teeth.<br>"Yeah. Sod off, civvy." Miller scoffed.  
>The older man looked like he was about to throw a punch at Miller's face.<br>Miller smirked as the cop backed down, apparently thinking it better to control his anger.  
>He turned his back to the officer, walking away with a swagger in his step. He didn't have Kevlar, but he still had his M1911 and plenty of ammo. L would most likely contact him soon. He had an ample amount of cash, so if he needed to, he could stay at a hotel overnight. His injuries were relatively minor...it didn't hurt too much to walk...his head was throbbing, though...and the sidewalk was getting closer and closer...this would hurt a bit...yeah, he probably wasn't exactly OK...<br>Captain John Price of the SAS, alias Ethan Miller, came to the conclusion that he wasn't quite as OK as he thought he was when his nose smashed into the concrete.  
>He could vaguely recognize the voice of the old cop shouting something before he slipped into blissful unconsciousness.<p>

He woke up in a hospital bed, wearing a hospital robe, entirely unarmed and feeling highly exposed. His head had bandages all over, and an IV drip ran into his left arm. His nose was bandaged as well. And the final indignity was that his slouch hat was gone, probably dumped in a pile of clothing that needed washing. He expected to have it returned to him tomorrow, ruined and floppy.  
>Now he was pissed off. Who on God's green earth thought they had the right to take his slouch hat? He simply couldn't comprehend it. What suicidal wanker would do that?<br>He slowed his breathing and tried to calm himself down. It was irrational to get this angry over a hat...wasn't it? He sighed in irritation as the door opened and the police officer from before entered the room. He stared at him with a scathing look. The cop didn't seem to notice; if he did, he didn't care in the slightest.  
>"How are you doing? Feeling better?"<br>"Not with you around." He retorted.  
>"Would you rather be face-down on the sidewalk right now?"<br>"Cheeky bastard."  
>The officer sighed.<br>"What's your name?"  
>"Does it matter to you?"<br>"It does, in fact."  
>"Ethan Miller. From London, England."<br>"Good to see you're cooperating. Now...why do you happen to carry an M1911 Custom with suppressor?"  
>"It's my weapon. I can take it where I want. It's for self-defense."<br>"Self-defense, huh? All right then. How come you were riding in a vehicle driven by a convicted criminal?"  
>Miller gritted his teeth. This had all been a trap. He should've known. He should have bloody known.<br>"I refuse to answer that question."  
>The officer raised an eyebrow.<br>"Why?"  
>"I'm sworn to confidentiality; additionally, I have no obligation to answer your questions."<br>"Fine then. Maybe you'll be more cooperative once you recover. Get some rest, son."  
>"Bugger off, muppet." Miller leered.<br>"Ungrateful little...Baka." The officer growled, stalking out of the room.  
>Miller tried to clear his head. He knew he couldn't just leave the hospital. He didn't know where the briefing point was. He had to contact L. He checked his phone; he had 4 missed calls, all from unknown numbers, and one SMS.<br>"Once you exit the hospital, go to room number 271 in the executive hotel. It is 2 blocks to the north. Display your ID to the man inside, and he will let you in."  
>So that was where he had to go. Convenient. His objective right now was getting out of this hospital.<br>Just then, the door to his room opened once more. A tall, blonde man with slightly long, wavy hair and bright blue eyes walked in. He was wearing a medic's pale-green hospital outfit. He seemed very positive and upbeat, as if he had good news to tell him.  
>"You're Mr. Miller?"<br>"Yeah. What of it?"  
>"Hans Carson. Pleased to meet you. I'll be reviewing your injuries."<br>Reviewing his injuries? That sounded ominously like a pre-surgery procedure. The last time he had to go through that was when he'd fractured two of his ribs and broke his right leg in a helicopter crash. He did not wish to repeat that experience.  
>"Checking my injuries, huh? How bad is it?"<br>Hans smiled knowingly.  
>"We won't need to operate. Don't worry. Just tell me if any of these points hurt...close your eyes for a second."<br>Miller complied.  
>He felt a rough, warm hand on his forehead; his headache was fading away. The hand ran down his face, beard, throat, to his chest. The congested, cramped sensation in his chest unclamped. He could feel the itching, burning in his throat sliding away.<br>Suddenly, the hand left his body, and the medic coughed slightly.  
>"All right...open your eyes."<br>The bearded soldier opened his eyes, glancing around.  
>"Are there any locations in which you're experiencing pain right now?"<br>"No. I feel fine."  
>"Are you certain?"<br>"Yeah...I'm pretty sure there isn't anything that's broken or bruised right now."  
>"All right. You should be good to go now...there are no broken bones or serious wounds, and you don't have a concussion. Your clothes are in the basket over there...and I've taken the liberty of recovering a few items that I believe belong to you."<br>Miller perked up at this last statement. Could they be...his M1911? And his hat?  
>A wry grin appeared on the soldier's rough features as the good doctor presented him with his beloved pistol and slouch hat.<br>"Heh...I owe you one, mate."  
>"It was no problem, really. No need to thank me."<br>As Hans left to give Miller some privacy, he gave the soldier a cheerful wave.  
>The guy seemed a little dopey, but he knew how to handle himself, that was for sure. Miller changed back into his freshly-cleaned military outfit, and pulled on his slouch hat, satisfied that it hadn't been washed. The holster went on, and so did the pack containing miscellaneous supplies and a c-ration.<br>When Miller opened the door, he was greeted by Hans, who led him out of the hospital, signing his release forms.  
>"Good luck, Miller. I hope you can do...whatever it is you came here to do."<br>"Yeah. Thanks for everything, Mr. Carson. I really owe you one."  
>Captain Miller had found an ally in an unlikely place; he knew he could rely on this guy if he got into a pinch.<br>As he walked towards the briefing point, the hardened warrior began to feel guilty for not asking about the condition of the woman he'd rescued from the crash. He pushed the thought out of his mind. She was probably fine, just unconscious...  
>Miller sighed.<br>He entered the comfortable hotel lobby. It was a fairly decent place; quite a bit nicer than his own dingy London flat.  
>"Where's room number 271?" He asked the receptionist.<br>She looked at him quizzically.  
>The soldier held his head in his hands. He'd forgotten that this was Japan. People didn't speak English. They spoke Japanese.<br>He pulled out his phone, pointing the browser to Google Translate. Damn it, that was useful.  
>"Doko rumo 271 desu ka?" He pronounced haltingly.<br>"Rumo 271? Kore wa, hidari ni san-kai-jo ni aru."  
>He knew san meant three...Ichi, ni, san, shi. Yeah. So it was on the third floor.<br>"Arigato." He thanked the receptionist, bowing slightly and tipping his hat in a gentlemanly manner.  
>He went up to the third floor using the elevator, which seemed to be the only way to go up or down other than the fire escape. As he reached room 271, he felt apprehensive. Was this an ambush? He hoped for the best and prepared for the worst. It was his motto. His fingers were running over the wood-trimmed handle of his M1911 as he knocked on the door. <p>


	14. Chapter 14

-  
>Chapter 13<br>Theme: 30 Seconds to Mars-The Mission  
>Briefing and Loadout<p>

"What is your name?" A stiff English-accented voice asked him through the door.  
>"Captain Ethan Miller, SAS."<br>The door opened to reveal a fairly tall man, who looked like he was about 60. He had gray hair, a gray well-trimmed mustache, and wore large round glasses. His eyes were a drab gray, like everything else about him.  
>"Please come in. I am Watari, one of L's agents."<br>Watari gestured to a metal folding chair, indicating for Miller to sit there. There was another man sitting next to him. He had medium length jet-black hair, sharp brown eyes, light skin, a trim build, and a youthful face.  
>In front of the two chairs, there was a laptop, the letter L in an Old English font filling its display.<br>Miller eyed the younger man with slight suspicion. He didn't look quite like a civvy, but he certainly wasn't military. Possibly MI6, or maybe FBI or CIA.  
>"Hi." The younger man said nervously.<br>Miller sat down, leaning forwards, entirely ignoring the awkward kid sitting next to him, instead focusing his attention on the laptop sitting in front of them, which had begun to play a transmission from L.  
>"Hello, Mr. Miller. The man to your right will be your partner in this mission. He is called Ray Penber. Now...the task that the two of you, along with 10 other FBI agents, have been selected for, is the investigation and capture of Kira. If arrest is not an option, you do have the go-ahead to use lethal force. However...capture is preferred. We do not have enough material evidence at this moment to accuse Kira in a court of law. Shadowing the suspect and collecting evidence will be Penber's task. He will follow our main suspect: Light Yagami, age 18."<br>As L said this, images of a young man with auburn hair, a pleasant face, and a smiling expression appeared on the display.  
>"We know the way in which Kira kills. He uses a note on which he writes the name of the victim and the condition of death. He cannot kill without having the face of the victim in mind. Keep your identities to yourselves. Penber especially. Miller...you can afford to be less cautious. You won't be directly tailing Light. Your task will be to protect Penber, by any means possible. Do you remember the truck accident that occurred when you came here?"<br>"Yes, I do."  
>"I set that accident up. The driver was a convicted criminal, as you might know by now. The passenger was one of my agents. It was a test of your performance under pressure. I was very pleased with your actions; the agent survived with minimal injuries, and she has been released from the hospital. However, you will need to control your confrontational nature. The man whom you insulted was the Chief of Police, Shijuro Asahi. You may have to work with him later on; your negative attitude towards him in this early stage has made any cooperation with him near impossible for you. And as for you, Penber; you need to be more aggressive and alert. When you came here, one of my agents managed to take $5 and your ticket stubs from your pocket without you noticing. Each of you needs to work on a particular skill that the other one is experienced in. Miller, you need to work on your temper and social skills. Penber, you have to improve your alacrity and situational awareness. I hope that pairing the two of you will be beneficial for both parties."<br>The two men looked at each other, their eyes locking. Miller's camouflage gray-green, and Penber's soft woodland brown.  
>Penber turned away from the captain's piercing gaze. It felt like the man was looking into his soul, analyzing him for strengths and weaknesses and character traits.<br>Apparently satisfied, the SAS agent grunted and returned his attention to the laptop.  
>"Are there any questions with regards to your mission?"<br>"Who will be in command on this mission?" Miller asked.  
>"You, Mr. Miller. Penber will have some freedom to decide what course of action to take; however, the order to open fire belongs to you alone.<br>A bead of sweat began to form on the FBI agent's forehead.  
>The SAS captain nodded gravely. He knew the responsibility of this job well. Penber was his squad member now. He had to know him inside out. Like any other soldier he worked with.<br>"Any other questions?"  
>Silence.<br>"Good. Kevlar vests will be provided to both of you; wear them under your clothing at all times. Additionally, Watari will provide each of you with a small subcutaneous transceiver, which will be injected behind your right ear. It works by sending vibrations through your jawbone into your ear canal; only you will be able to hear it. To speak or answer, just press on the area of bone directly behind your right ear. By default, it will attempt to contact your partner, unless you change the selected frequency. Watari will provide modified cellphones to select the frequency to connect to; you will be able to contact me, Watari, or each other, along with any other frequencies you may discover. There is no concern in regards to security; these are AES-256 encrypted connections using burst transmission and a rotating key, which would take thousands of years to break with current computing power. My frequency is 140.85, and Watari's is 140.96. If you wish, you may also listen in on shortwave radio and walkie-talkie transmissions in the area. If the cellphone is lost or damaged, your transceiver will cease to function; this is because the cellphone boosts the standard 3-meter range of the implant to a practically unlimited distance if you have a cellular signal. Without the handset, your implants will be useless. Any further questions? No? Good. I hope to hear from you soon."  
>The laptop screen went blank.<br>Miller was mulling over these developments.

(So...L set up that car crash as a test, huh? He's pretty ruthless, for the world's greatest detective. He probably has no qualms about disposing of us if something goes awry. I'll have to protect Penber if that ends up happening. This transceiver will be invaluable as a communications tool...we didn't have tech toys like these in the SAS. Good thing these are secured links; wouldn't want Kira or anyone else listening in on us... Kira. How does that bastard kill with just a notebook? That's ridiculous... But if L says so, he must have very strong evidence that proves it. And...that means Kira's got every major world politician as a hostage. This'll have to be a perfect stealth op.)

"If you'll allow me to inject your transceiver..." Watari's gentle British voice was coming from immediately behind him; it startled Miller out of his train of thought.  
>"Yeah, go ahead."<br>The cold needle slipped under Miller's skin, dropping the tiny device right above the bone behind his ear.  
>He heard a digital ringing noise in his right ear. It was perfectly clear, sounding as if its source was right next to him. The soldier pushed on the spot where the implant was injected, and heard a beeping.<br>"Hello, Mr. Miller. Can you hear me clearly?" It was L. He sounded crystal clear, and his perception of other sounds wasn't muffled or muted in any way.  
>"You're coming through loud and clear, L."<br>"Good. In public, you can act as if you're speaking on your cellphones; please refer to me as Ryuuzaki, to reduce the possibility of detection."  
>"Got it."<br>"You can whisper, and I'll still hear you clearly, by the way. The device picks up the vibrations from your vocal cords, which travel through your jawbone to the receiver, allowing me to hear you even when you whisper."  
>"Mhm. Got it."<br>"Good luck, Mr. Miller. I expect a positive result soon."  
>"Yes, sir."<br>The transceiver beeped to indicate that the call had ended.  
>Miller looked at Ray Penber, his new teammate. They'd have to work together very closely. He needed to figure the man out, from top to bottom, recognize all of his quirks, what made him tick, how his attitude was, what words and actions pushed his mental buttons. He was already thinking about him not as a civilian, but as a squadmate. A person he deeply cared about, despite having known him for less than half an hour.<br>"Hey. Penber." The captain growled gently.  
>"Huh?" The young investigator turned his attention to the gruff Briton.<br>"You don't need to be so nervous around me, son. I won't bite." The bearlike captain's rough features showed a gentle smile.  
>"Oh...yeah, I know. It's just that...I get kinda nervous around...people..." The American stuttered.<br>"People like me, right? Don't be afraid of saying anything, no matter what. You have to trust me 110%. I won't get angry at you."  
>"Well...you scare me." The agent said quietly.<br>"I scare lots of people, son. You, however, shouldn't be scared of me. I will not hurt you in any way. My job is to protect you from threats. How can I do that if you perceive my presence as a threat?"  
>"Uhh...you have a point...sir..."<br>"Just call me Miller."  
>"Okay...Miller..."<br>"Now. What can I do to make you less scared?"  
>"Uhh...I don't know..."<br>The captain reached a hand out and planted it on the FBI agent's shoulder firmly, which shuddered slightly under his grip.  
>"You have to trust me, Ray. Every single soldier I've worked with has given me their full measure of trust. I will not let you get hurt in lieu of me. I will never ask you to do something I would not do myself." The squad captain's true personality had completely replaced the gruff, quarrelsome facade he displayed towards outsiders.<br>Ray stared into the depths of emotion that Miller's eyes revealed. He cared, didn't he?

His eyes didn't lie. They showed someone who, deep inside, valued every individual he'd fought with, bled with, struggled with. He was tough. He expected nothing less than excellence. But in return, he sacrificed every single comfort he had. If one of his men needed something, he would give it up to provide them with it. He was the one who went hungry so his boys could eat. Shivered in the cold so his boys could stay warm. Bled so his boys could survive. Would choose to get left behind so his boys could go home to their families. He always stood up for his squad. And he inspired absolute loyalty. If he went rogue, his men would not hesitate for a single instant to follow him, even to the edge of the earth.  
>Ray Penber began to trust his captain. Yes...he wouldn't let him get<p>hurt...he would keep him safe to the best of his abilities...Miller would sacrifice his own life to save Penber's, because that was who he was. A real leader. Someone who really cared. All he asked was that his men gave their best effort. And in exchange, he gave them everything he had.  
>"I trust you, Captain Miller. I trust you with my life."<br>"Good. Let's go, soldier. We've got a killer to catch." The athletic SAS agent stood up, his features solidifying into their normal expressionless shell.  
>"Good luck, men. Here are your phones. Do not hesitate to contact us with any information you may obtain."<br>The pair left, starting their mission to capture the most dangerous individual the world had known.  
>It would scare almost any sane human being out of their wits. Penber was certainly nervous. Miller...didn't seem that nervous. Maybe because he dealt out death to every enemy he met day in, day out. He just didn't find it that intimidating.<p>Over the next few days, Penber familiarized himself with Light's daily routine. Going to prep school, studying, occasionally going out with a girl. Following Light on his dates was the most difficult task he had to perform; but even that wasn't too daunting for an FBI agent. Penber and Miller were beginning to feel like there was nothing about Light that warranted him being Kira.<p>

After about a week of observation, Light did something slightly out of the ordinary.

"Hey, Miller. Can you see me from the rooftop?"  
>"Yeah. Can't see the target, though. He's obscured by the bus stop."<br>"That's no problem. Listen, I need you to keep track of me. I'll be taking the next bus out of this station. It goes from here to Spaceland, an amusement park about 4 miles south from here. I'll keep my link open so you can hear me."  
>"Keeping my eyes on you will be tough..."<br>"I know. But...If I let Light out of my sight, he might do something that would reveal him as Kira."  
>"True. Go ahead and follow him. Just don't do anything rash. Keep your cool. Do not tell him your real name."<br>"Got it, Miller."  
>The bus pulled into the station, and the FBI agent followed Light and his girlfriend onto the bus.<br>The SAS captain observed from a nearby rooftop. He could commandeer a vehicle if anything got out of hand. For now, though, he relaxed a little. The bus turned the corner, and disappeared from his line of sight.  
>A moment later, he heard panicked screams and shouts in Japanese, and a rough voice that sounded as if it was threatening passengers.<br>"Penber...are you OK in there?"  
>"A bus jacking..." The agent whispered to Miller.<br>Damn. If he busted in and tried to rescue his agent, the hijacker would most likely fire on civilians, maybe even Penber himself. He couldn't afford that happening. And he couldn't snipe the hijacker through a window or building; his M1911 didn't have that level of range or accuracy, nor did it have a sonic or thermal scope. He should've taken a Barrett M107A1...but it was too late for that.  
>He had to wait.<br>The soldier heard some chatter between Penber and another passenger in Japanese. He couldn't understand a thing. Then...gunshots.  
>"Penber! Are you alright? Answer me! Just say something!"<br>"Oh my god...the hijacker just...jumped off and got hit by a car...I'm fine..."  
>He breathed again.<br>"Meet me back at the hotel, soldier. I need a report on what happened there."  
>"Yes, Captain Miller. I'm on it."<br>About 15 minutes later, the two had regrouped in the hotel room that L had provided them with.  
>The captain's face showed clear signs of stress and worry. He sighed, running a hand through his thinning light-brown hair nervously. The FBI agent seemed embarrassed, as if he'd done something wrong.<p>

"Penber...what happened back there?"  
>"Well...I got on the bus, and about 5 minutes after it left the station, a criminal hijacked it. He was carrying a handgun, and threatening the driver. I was sitting right behind the Kira suspect. He was passing a note to his girlfriend, detailing how he'd overpower the hijacker. I told him it was a bad idea. He accused me of being an accomplice; I...showed him my ID to prove him wrong. Then...he dropped a note...when the criminal grabbed it, he saw a hallucination...and ran off the bus. I'm sorry, Captain. I...screwed up, didn't I?"<br>Miller was breathing heavily, and he looked up at Penber from his perch on the edge of the bed with tired eyes.  
>The SAS agent was crushed inside, because he knew. If Light was Kira, then Penber was good as dead. He was praying that Light wasn't Kira, begging the heavens for a chance to trade places with Penber if Light was Kira.<br>"Your mistake may have just cost you your life, mate. He knows your name and face."  
>"But...I'm not dead yet..."<br>"If Light is Kira, he will kill you sooner or later. He isn't stupid. He noticed you were tailing him, and that's why he asked for your ID. I'll try to protect you to the best of my abilities, but...I can no longer promise your safety. I'm only a man, not a saint."  
>"He won't just kill me. That'd raise too much suspicion. Who else would be able to kill me with just a heart attack? He'd set it up somehow."<br>"We can't contact Ryuuzaki about this. If there's a chance of us failing our mission...he probably won't let us go home alive." Miller said.  
>"How do you know?"<br>"That car accident I was in. He had no qualms about putting myself and others in extreme danger as a simple test of skill. The bloody car burst into flames. If I didn't wake up quickly enough, both the agent and I would be burnt to a crisp. What do you think he'd do to us if we pulled out now?"  
>"That's true... So we just have to...avoid Light?"<br>"Yes...we have to give him some breathing room. I forgot to ask you...is Ray Penber your real name?"  
>"Yes, it is."<br>"The card you showed him...it didn't have an alias, did it?"  
>"No..."<br>"God damn it."  
>"Yeah."<br>"Every man, Penber. Every man I've led has come back alive for the last five years. If you die now, I won't be able to look at myself in the mirror again." He put his head in his hands, and exhaled slowly.  
>"I...I'm sorry, Captain Miller."<br>"What do you have to apologize for? I'm not the person who's in danger. Don't say you're sorry. I'm the one who should be apologizing. It's entirely my fault that you got into this situation. I'm sorry, Penber; I was unworthy of your trust. I broke my promise to protect you."  
>"Miller...don't say things like that. There was nothing you could do..." The younger man sat down alongside his demolished captain, wrapping an arm around his back, leaning his head on the older man's shoulder.<p>

"MacMillan, my commanding officer, taught me something important. I remember his very words till today, bless his heart. 'Don't let a single man die if you can help it.'  
>I admired the man's resolve and strength. He taught me everything I know. He saved my life a bunch of times...and I saved his once too...we're still the closest of friends. He was always my commanding officer. Like a father to me, that crazy old Scotsman. I'm not about to take his words for granted."<br>The captain stiffened abruptly as he heard a digital ringing, and pressed his index finger behind his right ear.  
>"Hello? Wha...? Who are you? You were...listening? Who the hell are you? Ryo? What do you mean, you're with that bastard Shijuro? What do you want with me? How'd you get my frequency? What do you mean, this isn't as secure as I think it is? Wait...How come you have information on Kira? How...? No! Don't hang up just yet, you wanker! Bloody hell!"<br>The soldier slammed his fist into the tabletop in frustration.  
>"Captain...who was it?"<br>"Some bloke who goes by the name of Ryo. He was listening in on us just now. Says he's working with the pompous arse of a police chief, Shijuro Asahi; somehow, he got our frequencies, and said the link isn't as secure as we think it is. He claims he has information on Kira. He told me I had to meet him alone in front of the Silver Dragonfly cafe at 19:00 sharp tonight if I wanted the information and his communications frequency, along with how he figured it out." The older man looked greatly stressed by this development.  
>"What do you think we should do, sir?"<br>"I'll meet him there. All I need you to do is set up some bugs beforehand, and observe the meeting from here. If anything happens, call the police. We're both wearing Kevlar, so small-arms fire should be no problem. If I say Cottonmouth at any point, that's code for a hostage situation involving civilians. Cobra indicates that one of us is under threat. Rattler, that's the code for a hostage situation involving a VIP. Remember, we're dealing with a Kira suspect here; he can hold any public figure, and most civilians, hostage. Got it?"  
>"Yes, sir."<br>"Good. I'll set up a high-power sniper rifle with extra ammo on a nearby rooftop. If weapons are drawn inside the cafe, don't hesitate to go up there and provide me with cover fire. I'll get you something light, so if you need to get out of there in a hurry, you'll be able to take the gun with you in a duffel bag that I'll leave nearby. As long as the bobbies don't get nosy, you'll be good to go."  
>"Uhh...sir...? Where do you plan to get all this... stuff?"<br>The special-forces captain smirked slightly.  
>"Procure on site, L told me. And that's what I'll do. You've heard of the Yakuza, haven't you? Japanese equivalent of the Mafia. They have illegal weapons by the ton, locked away in storehouses in the rougher parts of town. And thanks to Kira's killing spree, those caches will be almost unguarded. So I can simply sneak past or incapacitate the few remaining guards. Even without proper stealth gear, I can manage with what I've got right now. And if it comes down to a firefight, I'll be in a weapons cache, so I can just use whatever I find."<br>"Isn't that...a little dangerous, sir?"  
>"Dangerous? If you call that dangerous, you clearly haven't been on a tanker in the Bering Sea, full of Russian ultranationalists who are dead-set on killing you, while attempting to plant Semtex on nonfissionable nuclear material, detonate it, and haul ass before the whole bloody thing goes to shit."<br>Penber's mouth was slightly open, and an expression of shock was plastered all over his face.

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. You just plant those bugs. Got it, son?"  
>"Yeah-huh... I got it..."<br>"Good. You can go ahead now, I'll catch up with you later. Good luck."  
>"Same to you, sir...and...try to come back safely, please..."<br>"I will, don't worry."  
>The captain's olivine eyes met the agent's amber-brown eyes as the younger man left the room. They understood each other. The glance was one of trust; each trusted the other to do what was necessary in order to capture Kira.<br>The captain sighed, trudging over to his duffel bag full of clothing and equipment. He decided to wear a multicam-patterned combat jacket and cargo pants; these would be more effective at concealing his movements than his current clothing. The grayish concrete and metal pattern of the camouflage would fit perfectly with the urban environment he was in. He rummaged through his bag until he found the finishing touch he was looking for: a tan SAS beret. He pulled it over his short, graying hair, adjusting it in the mirror. He also slung his pistol holster and a large camouflage-patterned duffel bag on. Face paint wouldn't do him any good in this situation; his beard would entirely counteract the paint's effectiveness, and he sure as hell wasn't about to shave his bearlike facial hair off. He made sure he had plenty of ammunition in his camouflaged jacket's belt pockets, and exited the hotel room. This would be...a rush. He never felt quite as good as when he was on missions. The riskier, the better.  
> <p>


	15. Chapter 15

-  
>Chapter 14<br>Theme: Call of Duty 4 OST-Mile High Club  
>So Much For Stealth<p>As the SAS captain slunk down the fire escape into a back alley, he thought about possible locations for Yakuza weapon caches. Probably near the docks...a drysuit would have come in handy there, but...he could manage swimming for maybe 10 minutes in this gear. He'd have to avoid leaving footprints, which would pose a problem. No...an aquatic infiltration was most likely out of the picture...too many traces. Exfiltration might work, depending on how close to the water he was, and how desperate the need to escape became. Another issue was that of the warehouse's layout. He had no idea about any potential ambushes. This would be one of his more interesting missions...not quite as difficult as the tanker, however.<p>

Meanwhile, in the cafe, Penber was "enjoying" a coffee-based drink as he planted bugs on the only table with a good view from the window. He'd need the view for covering Captain Miller...he just hoped this Ryo guy wouldn't suspect anything if Miller asked him to sit at this table. He had to be pretty smart if he hacked those transceivers, didn't he? Or...was it just that someone somewhere made a stupid mistake while designing them? Penber hoped not. L was better than that, wasn't he? Maybe they were prototypes...or maybe the guy was just bluffing...? Was he another one of L's agents?

After about an hour of jogging through back-alleys and side streets in the rougher areas of Tokyo, Captain Miller finally reached the docks. He was currently crouched inside a dilapidated warehouse, peeking through gaps in the rusty sheet-metal walls. The next warehouse over looked to be fairly well-guarded, and most definitely not dilapidated. There were three guards armed with AKS-74U and Mini-Uzi SMG's, walking in a circular pattern around the perimeter of the building. He'd have to chokehold one of them, drag him off to the shadowy safety of the abandoned warehouse, and get whatever information he could out of the guard before slitting his throat. He couldn't afford to have one of them wake up and alert the other gangsters to his location, which was a possibility if he knocked them out. If he managed to take out the other two in this same method, he'd be good to go. Their weapons were useless to him, however, since they were unsuppressed. They'd be too loud to use without attracting unwanted attention. And he didn't want to use his M1911 unless it was necessary; the rounds would be easily traced back to his gun, one of the disadvantages of using an uncommon classic firearm.  
>The knife it was, then.<br>Miller waited until only one of the guards was on his side of the building, and sprinted out, grabbing the guard from behind, and muffling his shouts with his hand. He walked the gangster to the warehouse, the knife pressed against his throat.  
>As soon as he was in the safety of the dark warehouse, he began speaking to the Yakuza guard in a low, growling voice. Miller's soft beard scraped against the man's neck, and he could feel the fear radiating from his enemy in waves.<br>"Listen here, laddie. If you stay quiet, I'll consider letting you live. Now...where do you keep your weapons?"  
>He was fortunate that the gangster knew how to speak English.<br>"D-Don't, please, don't kill me...the weapons are in the fifth storage room...I have the main entrance key...the storage room key is inside...don't kill me...please...don't..." The young man squeaked.  
>Miller felt...guilty. This kid was only about...17 or 18? He...still had a lot of life ahead of him.<br>"I won't. As long as you don't alert anyone, I'll let you live."  
>"You...you will? Thank you...thank you so much, ninja-San!" The youth squealed hoarsely.<br>Miller sighed. Ninja-San? Seriously now...this guy had to learn a lesson...  
>"Sweet dreams, punk." He choked the gang member into unconsciousness, laying him onto the floor quietly and picking the key from his jeans pocket.<br>One down, two more to go.  
>The next one was around 30-something years old, and looked like a motorcycle gangster. This guy was a bit tougher; he tried to struggle free of his captor's iron grip, but the SAS captain would have none of it. As soon as the guy was in the warehouse, and Miller relaxed a little, he tried to elbow the older man in the gut.<br>That was the last mistake he'd make in his life.  
>The knife was through the guard's neck faster than a thought, and the lifeless corpse fell to the ground, blood slowly pooling around it.<br>It was pure reflex for the SAS agent.  
>Two down, one to go.<br>The last one was a hardened Yakuza member, a couple of years younger than Miller was. He let himself be dragged along without a fight, but once he saw the bodies in the warehouse, he struggled and succeeded at breaking the bearded man's grip. He flung a punch at the SAS agent's face, which was deftly blocked and countered with a knife to the gut. As the Yakuza staggered backwards, the captain made a commando lunge at the man, slashing his neck wide open.  
>Three out of three, taken care of. Now, all he had to do was enter and dispatch any guards that were inside.<br>The guard he'd just finished off had three flashbang grenades and one M67 fragmentation grenade hanging off his belt. Miller took the explosives, attaching them to his own equipment belt. He unlocked the heavy metal door slowly, and quickly tossed a frag and flash grenade in sequence, slamming the door behind him.  
>Bang.<br>That was the flash.  
>And...boom.<br>There went the frag grenade. Now he only had 2 flashbangs.  
>He opened the door slowly, the barrel of his gun peeking in before he went all in. The smoke had mostly cleared, and the SAS captain could see that there were 3 bodies laying on the ground...or...what used to be 3 bodies.<br>There were 4 AKS-74U's on the ground.  
>There was one person who was still alive.<br>He dove behind a metal supply crate, and not a moment too soon, as a burst of semi-automatic fire chipped at the concrete where he stood only milliseconds ago.  
>(Bloody hell...I don't have any frags, and if I jump out to shoot him, he'll probably nail me as well. Shock and awe it is then.)<br>Miller pulled the pin on his second flashbang, tossing it in the general direction of the SMG fire. He plugged his ears; despite that, he heard the sound of the explosion clearly.  
>The SAS captain rushed out, firing at the hostile, who was stunned and spraying blindly with his SMG. One bullet narrowly clipped the captain's ear as he punched a hole through the man's head with his pistol.<br>The room was clear for now...Miller checked the bodies for keys; however, none of them had keys for the 5th storeroom.  
>He'd need to blast it open somehow. None of the enemies had grenades, but there was a Winchester 1200 shotgun laying on one of the crates.<br>That'd probably do.  
>The captain shot the hinges off with the high-powered weapon, kicking the door in violently.<br>Jackpot.  
>There were weapons of every assortment; USP .45's, AK-47's, W1200 shotguns, and what he came for: A Dragunov SVD sniper rifle with beautifully maintained wood furnishings, and a case full of ammunition. He picked up the Dragunov carefully, admiring its polished wood accents, and placed it inside his duffel bag, along with extra pistol and sniper ammunition.<br>As he left, his pack laden with loot, the communicator in his ear rung with a digital noise. He picked up.  
>"Hello?"<br>"Captain, where are you? I'm just...checking to make sure you're all right." It was Penber. He sounded concerned.  
>"Couldn't be better. Just leaving the storehouse now. I got you a real beauty of a gun, mate. Take good care of it."<br>"OK. What's the ETA?"  
>"About two hours from now... I'll set the sniper up, and meet you back at base. You finished the planting?"<br>"Yeah, the place is wired up, and I have my laptop set up to view the feeds."  
>"That's my lad. Good job. I'll be seeing you around 18:00."<br>"Yes, sir."  
>Miller closed the connection. Everything was going to plan so far. He'd place the sniper rifle on a rooftop with a good view of the Silver Dragonfly Cafe, and change into something a bit more inconspicuous before meeting Ryo.<br>After about an hour of searching, Miller found the Silver Dragonfly. There was quite a bit of construction going on in the area, which made it difficult to find a clear location that had the prerequisite view of the cafe.  
>This would be tough.<br>There were a few lower buildings across from the Silver Dragonfly, but any sniper sitting on their roofs would be caught in the streetlamps' glow, leaving them exposed. A taller building wouldn't have a good view of the target location. After quite a bit of searching, Miller decided on a bookstore at an angle from the cafe. There was a decent view, and there were no concerns in regards to lighting or surface stability. He climbed up to the roof using a ladder on the back of the building, and set up the sniper rifle, aiming it towards the Silver Dragonfly. He left the extra sniper ammunition and duffel bag on the roof.  
>By now, it was about 16:45. There were two hours and fifteen minutes left until the meeting.<br>Miller jogged back to the hotel, which took about 45 minutes. Only an hour and a half till the meeting.  
>As Miller entered the hotel room, he noticed that Penber looked quite melancholy and depressed.<br>"Oi. What's the long face for, mate?"  
>"Huh? Oh...nothing...I'm just...worried, I guess."<br>"What about?" Miller asked, sitting next to Penber.  
>"My fiancee is getting involved in the Kira case...she's a former FBI investigator...and...I'm worried about her getting killed by Kira."<br>"Hm. I hear you, laddie. Look...if trying to stop her will destroy your relationship, it may be better to let her investigate the case. If either one of you dies...at least you won't die with bitterness towards your love. That's what I think, anyway...but what do I know, my wife divorced me because I was always deployed."  
>The captain chuckled slightly, and a slight smile appeared on Penber's face.<br>"Thanks, Captain Miller. I appreciate it, I really do."  
>"Eh? You're going to listen to my advice?"<br>"Yeah, what's wrong with that?"  
>"I already told you... Every relationship I've been in has just fallen apart. I'm too obsessed with SAS training and working with my squad to have time for relationships, so they've all broken up."<br>"I'll...keep that in mind."  
>"Good then. I have two kids...living in England right now. Probably think their old man's a complete bastard who doesn't care about them, and he's the one getting shot at to protect their freedom. It'd be funny if it weren't so sad..." Miller sighed.<br>"Anyway, I need to take a shower and get ready for the meeting with this...Ryo bloke."  
>Miller grabbed his standard barracks uniform from the large clothing bag in the corner, and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.<br>Penber sighed, wiping his face. How could this SAS captain treat such a heavy emotional load so lightly? Did he just not care? Or...was he just really good at covering his emotions? 


	16. Chapter 16

-  
>Chapter 15<br>Theme: Yellowcard-Hang You Up  
>Heartbroken<p>As the steaming hot water rolled over the captain's muscled body, he remembered what his life used to be like...when he had a family. He had two kids, James and Sandy. Sandy was the older one; he recalled the first time he saw her...he'd just come back from a deployment in Ukraine...he was grimy, sweaty and tired...but when he heard the news...he just rushed straight to the hospital, didn't even bother changing out of his combat gear. The nurses gave him the strangest look as this rough, mustached soldier pulled his gloves off and cradled his little bundle of joy, his face glowing with a father's loving smile...they decided to call her Sandy...she had her mother's oceanic blue eyes, and her father's golden-brown hair, that was for certain.<br>A year and a half later...James was born. He was there this time. He'd been injured in combat, and had to stay out of deployment for a month. At that point, he'd grown out his beard from the handlebar mustache he had before. He didn't know why he remembered that detail...it didn't even matter. What really mattered was James. He was incredibly cute, with his straight, dark brown hair, sparkling green eyes, and dimpled grin...he was full of energy, and by 8 months he was already crawling all over the flat, causing mischief. The active little boy always brought a smile to his father's worn face, no matter how tired he was. Whenever he carried James, the tyke was always fascinated by the elder Price's beard, pulling at it with those chubby little fingers of his.  
>That was...about 5 years ago. Now...James was going to kindergarten...and Sandy was in first grade...he hadn't seen them in so long. It had been about...a year after James was born that his wife divorced him...she said he was never there, didn't give them any time...didn't care...Kate...that was her name. His heart was smashed when she told him he didn't care. He cared. That was why he fought and bled in war zones at the edges of the earth...he cared about them, wanted to leave a more peaceful world for his children to live in...but...nobody seemed to understand that need, that desire to leave a legacy that meant something. If not peace...then at least the hope for it, for his children, if not, then for his grandchildren. At least...at the absolute minimum...he wanted them to live in a world without fear of bombings and attacks by radicals.<br>That rejection...was one of the few times in his life that he actually shed tears. And...it still hurt. It was a raw gash in his heart, filled with poisonous emotions. He withdrew from emotional involvement with anyone at that point. The only person who understood his feelings was MacMillan. Whenever he was in a pinch, the man would help him out. When he moved out of his old apartment, he stayed with the Scotsman for a few weeks until he could get back on his feet. When he was tight on money and couldn't pay both child support and rent, MacMillan gave him a few hundred quid to cover the expenses, and didn't expect anything in return. MacMillan was the man he could confide in; he could tell him the truth and he wouldn't judge. The Scotsman just gave him honest, straightforward advice. Didn't beat around the bush. That was what he loved about the man. But...no amount of good advice could bridge the gap between him and his family. God knows, he tried. And yet, no matter how hard he tried, he was never good enough. He was dead to Kate. His children had grown used to his absence; they didn't even ask about their father, what he was like, why he wasn't here. His heart felt like it was falling apart. He loved Kate, and James, and Sandy...they were the ones he always remembered whenever he had doubts about what he was fighting for. He always carried a photograph of them, folded up in his pocket, everywhere he went. A memory of the good old days that he could never get back, no matter how hard he tried.  
>He sighed and turned off the shower tap, droplets of water dripping from his beard, echoing through the silence, shattering it into a billion fragments of memory and remembrance, pulling him out of his past and back to the present. Now...now, he had no real chance of reconciling with his family. He had to accept that. He had to live with his mistakes, his regrets, his scars. Like everyone else did. He needed to move on, live in the present, not dwell on the past. They'd always be in his heart, but...he had to get out of this rut he was in. It was all over between him and Kate. He couldn't spend the rest of his life regretting his mistakes. It was all his fault, and he had to accept that. He wasn't a particularly religious man, but right now...he was praying for his family's safety, for their well-being, for a safer world for them to live in, for them to forgive him, maybe even attend his funeral...someday...or maybe today...he didn't know. He never knew. And it forced him to always think...what would happen if I died this instant? Or...tomorrow? He always kept that possibility in mind. Would his children forgive him? How would they remember him? Would they curse his memory or pray for him? He could only hope.<br>He dried himself off, and looked at his face long and hard in the mirror.  
>Who was he really?<br>Johnathan Price?  
>Ethan Miller?<p>

He didn't even know which one was real.  
>Ethan Miller was a mask he hid behind like a coward.<br>John Price was a name he wore back when he was a fool.  
>They were one and the same now.<br>A foolish coward, one who couldn't let go of his past, nor face up to it.  
>Better to be foolish than a coward.<br>He would drop his alias. He was Captain John Price now. He no longer felt the need to run from his past. He couldn't face it now, didn't have the time to, but...once all this was over, he'd see if he could rebuild his bridges with Kate. He would try to see James and Sandy, tell them about the kind of man their father was. Why they never saw him. What his job was. How much he loved them.  
>It burned. Oh, how it burned. The fiery, searing-hot pain of memory hurt him more than any wound he suffered from in combat. But it also lit his resolve from a smoldering coal to a raging flame. He would see the capture of Kira through till the very end. And the chase started today.<br>Price pulled on his urban pixel-pattern camouflage pants and uniform, adjusting them to his satisfaction. On the left arm there was a stitched-on Union Jack. He put on his tan beret with a flaming sword badge pinned to the front, the mark of the SAS.  
>He straightened his cuffs, and opened the bathroom door. Penber was observing the camera feed on the laptop; he glanced at his commanding officer, and smiled at his formal attire.<br>"You look like a real heartbreaker in that outfit, Captain Miller."  
>"My real name's Johnathan Price, if you don't mind. Captain Price. I'm not a coward who'll hide behind an alias any longer. Don't be afraid to use my real name. Hell, call me Johnny if you like."<br>"Uh...okay, Captain Price."  
>The captain smiled slightly.<br>"Thanks for the compliment about my uniform."  
>"It's true...I'm sure MacMillan would be proud if he could see you now."<br>"That he would. I'll be going now...only an hour until the meeting."  
>"Good luck, Captain Price."<br>"Don't go hanging off the light fixtures, Penber. Stay safe."  
>"I will...don't worry. See you later, sir."<br>"G'bye, mate."  
>Captain Price walked out, the load on his heart a little bit lighter. He was beginning to see a light, the tiniest bright-white pinprick of hope, at the end of his tunnel. He'd reach it, or die trying. <p>


	17. Chapter 17

-  
>Chapter 16<br>Theme: TOKIO-Druga Rika Dogonim  
>(mis)Information<p>The SAS captain approached the meeting location on foot; the sun was setting, coating everything in a golden shade, as if a yellow paint can had exploded over the entire city. As he entered the cafe, more than a few people gave him odd looks, which wasn't a surprise. Most customers at this place were from their mid-to-late teens to mid-twenties; mostly high-school and college students. A soldier with a thick graying-brown beard and short, grayish-brown hair mostly covered by a tan beret would naturally look out of place.<br>A thumping electronic beat was playing on the store's music system..."Druga Rika Dogonim" by the Russian group "TOKIO", according to the display over the counter.  
>The SAS captain could barely stand hearing a single word of Russian ever since he had been deployed to Georgia five years ago. It was like nails on a chalkboard to him; whenever he heard the language, his mind began associating the words he heard with other words...words like grenade and Semtex and Kalashnikov and intruder and alert. Not very relaxing words to say the least.<br>On the other side of a cafe, a twenty-something guy with straight jet-black hair combed into bangs, icy-cool blue eyes and slim glasses was glancing at the soldier with thinly concealed interest. He wasn't looking at Price in the same way the other patrons were. He was assessing him, sizing him up, fitting him into a mental mold. Captain Price didn't like it one bit. He walked over to the kid, sitting at his table; it was the one Penber had bugged.  
>"Hey. You Ryo?" The soldier growled gruffly.<br>"I wonder how you came to that conclusion. You don't look like a very intelligent person...but your analytical skills appear sufficient for your line of work." Ryo said quietly.  
>"Sufficient for my line of work, eh? Is that supposed to provoke me?" Price scoffed.<br>"No, just stating an observation. Do you know why I asked you to come here?"  
>"Listen, kid. Don't beat around the bush. I know why you told me to come here. You have intel on Kira, and you're gonna talk, the easy way or the hard way."<br>"Is that a threat? You know...I could have you arrested for threatening an investigator right now."  
>Price furrowed his brow and leaned forwards.<br>"What difference does it make to me? I'm working with L."  
>Ryo sighed, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and leaning back slightly.<br>"L doesn't care about you. If you go to jail, he'll wash his hands of you, and get another soldier to take your place. Maybe even your precious Colonel MacMillan."  
>The smirk dissolved from Price's face, replaced by grim rage.<br>"How do you know about MacMillan?" Price questioned in a throaty growl.  
>Ryo smirked.<br>"I have my ways. Remember what I said about your communicators not being so secure?"  
>"You...bastard! You've been spying on us?"<br>"I prefer to call it...an alternative information collection technique."  
>The SAS captain growled under his breath at Ryo, who simply adjusted his glasses again.<br>"Listen, punk. Give me your intel. That's what we agreed on, and that's what I want. You're just wasting my time right now. You don't even have the intel, do you?"  
>"Oh, I have the intel. What I want to know is what your role in this whole thing is. Are you trying to catch Kira, or are you trying to protect Penber?"<br>"Both."  
>"Which comes first?"<br>"Protecting Penber, of course."  
>"That's interesting."<br>"Are you gonna talk or not?"  
>"Be more patient, Captain."<br>"My patience...is running out. I'm starting to suspect this is an ambush."  
>"Have some faith; if I wanted to kill you, I would've done it by now."<br>"Now look who's threatening who."  
>"You seem like an...okay person, Captain Price. However, I don't trust you not to kill me. Shall we move to a...less conspicuous table?"<br>Damn. The bugs were useless if they moved to a different location. And Penber wouldn't be able to get a clear shot if this turned out to be an ambush.  
>"I'd rather stay here, thank you very much."<br>"Do you want the information or not?"

"Well?"  
>Captain Price clicked the communicator on.<br>"Penber...you won't be able to help me from here on out...keep listening, though...just in case something happens."  
>"Interesting...you have...or...had backup." Ryo noted condescendingly.<br>The SAS captain gritted his teeth and steeled himself for a bullet in his chest as he walked to the table his informant indicated and sat down.  
>"Well? Give me the information!"<br>"All right. Here's the scoop. Kira can kill by methods other than heart attacks. He is capable of controlling his victims for up to 23 days before their death. The man who hijacked that bus was controlled by Kira, as a tool to force Penber into showing his ID, and thus revealing his name to him. At any point, he might control Penber into revealing your name, which would be the end of the two of you. L hasn't revealed this to you, has he?"  
>"No. No, he hasn't."<br>"Hm. Anyway...I'm working with Shijuro Asahi as a technology analyst. So far, I've tried to catch Light poking around criminal databases, but he hasn't slipped up in any way. L can't land him in the slammer until he has enough hard evidence to do so. He's more than willing to use you and the FBI investigators as bait to make Light slip up."  
>"Interesting."<br>"Well, that's about it for now. My communications frequency is 140.12; contact me if you have any questions about phenomena relating to the Death Note."  
>Ryo started to get up.<br>"Wait. How did you break into our transceivers?"  
>Ryo grinned.<br>"It's simpler than you think it is. All I had to do was get within about 10 feet of Penber. The connection between the implant and your range booster is entirely unsecured; that tiny chip doesn't have enough processing power to encrypt a voice connection. The part of the connection that is secured is the range-boosted link. It's like building a house with plywood walls and a 10-inch thick steel door."  
>"I...see."<br>"Sorry if I freaked you guys out...I just wanted to know what your personality was like. Rest assured, I want to catch Kira as much as you do. If there's anything you need, just ask."  
>"Thanks for the intel. I appreciate it."<br>"Been nice meeting you, Captain."  
>"You too...Ryo."<br>The two went their separate ways, Price returning to the hotel where Penber was, and Ryo walking in the direction of the stairs leading down to the subway.  
>As the captain returned to his hotel room, he was met by a woman with shoulder-length wavy black hair, Japanese features, and dark-brown eyes. She looked a bit like Penber...around the same age, similar features. And...she was coming out of his room.<br>"Hey. Who are you?" He asked her.  
>She looked slightly startled at the suddenness of his question.<br>"Ray didn't tell you?"  
>"No. Who are you?"<br>"I'm his fiancee. Naomi Misora. You must be John Price. I've heard quite a bit about you."  
>"I've heard you were an FBI investigator."<br>"Still am. I'm investigating the Kira case alongside Ray."  
>"He's a good man. Don't...lose him."<br>"What do you mean by that?" She gave him a quizzical look.  
>"Uh...nothing. Just...take good care of each other, that's all."<br>She didn't seem satisfied by this answer; however, she didn't press the question either, much to the gruff old soldier's relief.  
>"All right then. I'll see you later."<br>"Yeah. Bye."  
>She walked away at a brisk pace.<br>The captain sighed in relief. He didn't want to go over the events that led him up to this point in his life again.  
>As he opened the room door and took his boots off, his FBI counterpart looked at him nervously.<br>"Captain...I think you might want to see this."  
> <p>


	18. Chapter 18

-  
>Chapter 17<br>Theme: Moby-Lift Me Up  
>Foul-Weather Friends<p>

"What is it, Penber?" The soldier asked, sitting down next to the agent on the bed.  
>"Uh...just read it...it's from L."<br>He handed Price the laptop.  
>It had an email from the great detective. The contents were as follows:<p>

Hello Captain Miller and Detective Penber.  
>There is some new information regarding Kira that I believe would be of interest to you. It appears that there is someone leaking information from this investigation. Many of the other FBI agents have been dying from heart attacks with no clear method as to how Yagami-Kira would obtain their names. Some of them have not even been tailing Light.<br>Additionally, I have received word that a second Death Note has fallen into Light's hands. It used to be owned by your "informant" Ryo Nakamura. It was passed on to Shijuro Asahi, the Chief of Police, for safekeeping. It was subsequently stolen from him in a so-called mugging, which I suspect was set up by Kira in order to obtain the note.  
>Thus, I have concluded that there may be a new Kira who is providing covering fire for Yagami-Kira, killing off his pursuers using a note provided by Yagami-Kira. This new Kira most likely has the ability of Shinigami Eyes, which allows the user of the note to see names and lifespans of people just by looking at their faces. You will need to act as inconspicuously as possible to avoid death.<br>Who Dares, Wins.  
>L.<p>

"Shinigami...? Those are real...? I thought they were...just...legends." Penber said in quiet awe.  
>"What the hell is a Shinigami, anyway?" Price asked gruffly.<br>"Shinigami is the Japanese word for Death God, or Soul Reaper, or something of the sort. A mythological demon-like creature that can take human souls. It seems that they're...real...and associated with the Death Note, somehow."  
>"Pfft.<p>What kind of bullshit is this?"  
>"...Well...how about you call Ryo? He said he knew plenty about the note and associated phenomena."<br>"I'm dine dealing with that kid. He's a prick. You can call him if you're so fascinated with these Shinigami things."  
>"Fine then...wait...how does L know about Ryo being our informant?"<br>Captain Price sighed.  
>"He must be listening in on our conversations with the comms implant... These things are more of a pain than they're worth."<br>"You got that right, sir."  
>Price seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, and then he spoke suddenly.<br>"Penber...do you think Kira might be holding someone hostage...forcing them to write names under threat of death?"  
>Penber looked perturbed.<br>"It's...possible, I suppose...it would certainly explain the FBI agent deaths...but it'd have to be someone who has access to their names and faces. Or...if they had Shinigami Eyes...just their faces. Why do you ask?"  
>"I'm wondering about the possibility of Light holding an agent hostage, forcing them to kill their comrades for him."<br>"Who are you thinking of, specifically?"  
>"I...don't want to point any fingers...but only a few agents are left...it'll most likely end up being one of us three...you, Naomi, or me."<br>"You're scaring me again, Captain Price..."  
>The older man sighed.<br>"I know, Ray, I know. But we have to keep all of the possibilities open. That includes the off-chance that one of us is the second Kira."  
>"I...just can't imagine Naomi being Kira. It doesn't make any sense."<br>"Neither does you being Kira."  
>"I hope it isn't one of us..."<br>"So do I, Penber. So do I."  
>The younger man leaned into Captain Price's chest, his head rubbing into the soldier's beard, the agent's soft hair tickling his throat gently.<br>Penber was like his children in so many ways...and yet so different.  
>He needed protecting, was very close to the old man's heart, was still a bit inexperienced and needed to learn, and was prone to making rash mistakes.<br>But he was also intelligent, analytical, and excellent at following orders, as well as being a handsome 35 year old man, compared to a cute 5 year old boy.  
>The same, and yet different.<br>And...he had sworn to protect both. That was what he would do.  
>"Don't worry, Penber. I'll protect you. As much as I can."<br>"Thanks...it means a lot to me, ya know."  
>"Yes...yes, I know." The rough Briton said gently.<br>They stayed like that for a minute, each feeling comforted by the other's presence, like a father holding his son close to him, not wanting to let go. As they moved away, Penber spoke in that quiet, relaxed voice of his. It reminded the soldier of MacMillan's...of safety, of home.  
>"Price-Taicho...thanks. I feel a lot better now."<br>"Not a problem. I'm here for you. Uh...what does Taicho mean, by the way?"  
>Penber smiled lightly, bright teeth sparkling through the young man's boyish grin.<br>"It means Captain in Japanese. Is it okay?"  
>"It's fine by me. When in Rome, do as the Romans do, I suppose."<br>"You can call me Penber-Kun. It's like saying son or lad. You'd call your commanding officer MacMillan-San. It means sir or mister, and it's typically used for people you respect, or people who are older than you."  
>"That's...nice to know. Thanks, Penber-Kun." He smiled benevolently at the younger man, and ruffled his smooth raven-black hair.<br>There was a short silence.  
>"Hey...Price-San. Could I...borrow some of your clothes? I really need to take a shower, and...everything I've got is at the cleaners."<br>"No problem. Just...take whatever you need."  
>"Thanks..." Penber was blushing slightly, and a subtle smile made its way onto the weathered captain's lips.<br>It was these little moments that made life worth living for him.  
>And they were worth dying to preserve. <div> 


	19. Chapter 19

-  
>Chapter 18<br>Theme: Moby-Extreme Ways  
>Alternate Perception<p>Ryo Nakamura walked down the stairs to the subway, satisfied with the results of his meeting.<br>Damn. Having watched Death Note was a huge tactical advantage when the events in the series were actually unfolding...albeit a little bit out of order, and with a few...unpredictable individuals tossed into the mix. One person who concerned him was...Captain John Price. He knew the soldier harbored a grudge towards the police chief-his boss. He wasn't sure whether that grudge would later expand to encompass the entire investigation team. He hoped it wouldn't. That would be troublesome. They didn't need more enemies, especially with a potential second Kira.  
>A second Kira. That could only spell danger-even moreso if the second Kira was Misa Amane. Pop star by day, mass-murderer by night. And...a Shinigami Eyes user.<br>Ryo winced as he considered the potential danger. He also knew that Penber and Price hadn't been informed of the full details of the note's workings... Why would L keep intel from his agents? Did he mistrust them? Or was it that one of them...ahhh. If one of them was controlled by Kira, more information would become a liability. He was glad that L hadn't informed them of Asahi-San's real name...that would have had disastrous consequences.  
>He hoped Light would slip up soon...if he had an assistant, he'd have to communicate with them somehow. Probably in the most obscure ways possible.<br>The hacker looked at the rugged home-brew gadget in his hand. It was built inside the case of an old yellow Sony Walkman tape player; however, it was by no means retro. The mini-computer had shortwave, longwave, and nanotransceiver antennas built in, EDGE, 3.5G and Wi-Fi connectivity, a 4" touchscreen in the place of the plastic front panel, a 2GHz dual-core ARM processor, 1GB of memory, 3.5 mm out jack, Micro-USB connector and 32 GB of storage. It ran a modded version of Android with software designed for signal analysis and cracking Wi-Fi security. It had come in very handy once so far...he'd used it to pick up the short-range transceiver signals Penber and Price were using. From there it was a simple matter of determining their range-booster's kernel type and implementing the proper injection exploit to gain root access.  
>Hacking was fun...and proved useful as well. Best of both worlds.<br>But cracking passwords and pwning systems wasn't going to catch Kira. He needed to use the information he obtained tactically.  
>And the information he had now...revealed that there was an unknown factor in the equation.<br>Captain John Price.  
>All his thinking, analysis, calculations, plans, came back to the gruff, rugged soldier.<br>Ryo didn't know how the man functioned, how he behaved, how he thought, how he fought. He was an enigma.  
>Ryo had an equation containing variable x, which, when simplified, consistently returned x=x...a useless result.<br>In layman's terms, Ryo didn't know enough about the guy to accurately describe how he'd act in a given situation. He was like Shijuro in some ways...a hardened fighter. But he was much more volatile than the soft-spoken police chief. Impatient, easy to provoke, but smart. He hated to admit it, but...there was the possibility that Captain John Price might just be better at planning and tactics than he was.  
>Nah.<br>That guy was too thick-headed and aggressive. He could outfox the bearlike soldier if need be. But...in combat, nobody could stand up to him. Not even Shijuro Asahi himself could do anything to this guy if it came to an all-out gunfight. He was faster, stronger, keener and more forceful than anyone else he'd ever met.  
>The soldier was insane, unpredictable, aggressive, and lethal.<br>The man was brave, loyal, strong-willed, and very, very perceptive.  
>They were two sides of the same coin. He could go either way, depending on who he was dealing with. And it was frustrating. He didn't fit any mold. He didn't act like anyone Ryo had ever seen before. And it was driving him up the wall.<br>But right now...he couldn't afford to waste time analyzing a person who wasn't Kira. He had to track down the second notebook. If Light had it, that wasn't too bad. If someone else had it, he had to figure out who they were. It helped that he had a sheet of the note with him. As long as he could keep that with him, he'd be able to see Rem. And if he could find Rem, the notebook was sure to be nearby...  
>As Ryo entered the Chief's office, his boss gave him a questioning look.<br>"Well? What have we got?"  
>"The individuals I've contacted are Captain Johnathan Price from the SAS, and Agent Ray Penber from the FBI. L appears to be keeping information from them; however, their skills more than make up for their lack of raw data to work with. Captain Price is an extremely forceful individual, in addition to having keen mental abilities. I would advise treating him with great respect and caution. He's a bit like you, sir. Agent Penber is less aggressive, a bit more like Matsuda-San; however, he doesn't seek approval from Price, and seems somewhat fearful of the soldier. I must say I'm not surprised...he's an...impressive man, to say the least. Price's main goal is protecting Penber, followed by capturing Kira. It will be in our best interests to keep Penber safe if we want to keep Price off our backs. The SAS agent appears to bear a grudge against you personally. I believe he's the one who swept that Yakuza weapons cache clean, which should be reason enough to keep a good working relationship with him. If I were to pick one word to describe him, it would most certainly be badass. No offense to you or your remarkable skills, sir."<br>"None taken. Continue."  
>"Moving on. As I said before, Penber has a subdued personality. He's quite calm, relaxed, and gentle with people. Something of a smooth talker. He could be very persuasive if he was a smidgen more devious. He isn't particularly tactical or aggressive; however, he knows his stuff and doesn't break under pressure easily. His personality contrasts and meshes very well with Price's. Penber's presence seems to reveal a protective, fatherly quality in Price. They seem to have developed a surprisingly close relationship for having known each other for such a short time period. Penber's attitude to Price seems to be a mix of love and respect, tinged with a bit of fear. If Price is threatened, however...I think Penber will show his true colors. Most likely, he'll become much more aggressive."<br>Shijuro removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes and sighing.  
>"These two have the same goal as we do...but different means of reaching that goal. I'd like for you to maintain a good relationship with them. We need all the help we can get in capturing Kira, and these men might provide the fresh perspective that we need. Give them any information they request; they're capable of analyzing and acting on it without the restrictions of police-department bureaucracy that we have to follow. Even though I'm the Chief of Police, that doesn't mean we have a free ticket out of any legal mess we make for ourselves. These guys...they aren't accountable under law-enforcement regulations and restrictions. They're legally civilians, and we don't have any evidence against them. If they do anything...blatantly illegal, I will arrest them. But for now, we have two new important allies."<br>"Ahh...I'd like to raise a concern with your idea of arresting them. It isn't a very good idea to try arresting the soldier...or the FBI agent for that matter. I think Price's the kind of person who has exactly zero hesitation on pulling the trigger...or flipping the detonator. In combat, he's a one-man army. If he sees himself or Penber threatened, he won't hesitate to lash out at the source of the threat...even less so if we're the cause. Remember, he hates you specifically. He probably won't act on that enmity anytime soon, but I'd at least wear Kevlar before I meet him if I were you."  
>"...that's a good point, Ryo-Kun." The mustached man sighed, running a hand through his hair.<br>"On the bright side...he doesn't seem to mind me too much. I think he's a bit intimidated by my intelligence."  
>"Don't get a big head, kid. Nothing intimidates that man. He'd attack a tank with hand grenades."<br>Ryo snickered at the comment; it brought images of Price in a Solid Snake-style sneaking suit, tossing frag grenades at the tank in the snowy field from the original Metal Gear Solid. Although...it didn't seem entirely impossible...the SAS trooper did resemble the video-game character in certain aspects...  
>"What's so funny?"<br>"Nothing much...just reminded me of a scene from a video game I played."  
>"Oh. Alright then..." The police chief looked distracted, as if something was gnawing at his mind.<br>The younger man sighed, pushing his glasses up.  
>"Asahi-San...what's on your mind?"<br>"Hm? Uh. Well...it's about Light...I just can't believe that he could be Kira. It...doesn't make sense. Why...? I thought I taught him better than that..."  
>"It's not your fault, Asahi-San. It's just that his morals were twisted by the power that fell into his hands when he found the Death Note."<br>"The morals I taught him..."  
>"Asahi-San...don't blame yourself. There was nothing you could do about that. We need to look to the future, not the past."<br>"I suppose so...still. I can't help but feel as if I'm the one to blame..."  
>"You aren't, Asahi-San. Let's get back to work. We still have all night."<br>"Mhm. All right then. Let's go."  
> <p>


	20. Chapter 20

-  
>Chapter 19<br>Theme: Pendulum-Mutiny  
>Hard Contact<p>

It was about 3 A.M.; the bearded soldier and the raven-haired FBI agent were sleeping peacefully after having spent several hours poring over the information they'd recently obtained from Ryo, and its potential consequences.  
>At around 3:10, Captain Price woke with a start. He thought he'd heard something...and he wasn't one to ignore his precisely honed senses.<br>He slid out of bed, padding along quietly in bare feet. His night vision was particularly sharp, so he noticed the envelope that had been slid under the room door and froze without stepping on it and waking Penber.  
>"What have we got here...?" He growled quietly.<br>He opened the small white envelope, noting that there was no stamp, seal, or writing of any sort on the outside; it was just a plain white letter-size envelope.  
>Inside he found a folded sheet of writing paper...he couldn't turn the light on and risk waking Penber to read this...if Kira was holding the FBI agent hostage, this might be the method in which they were communicating...and if it was...then Kira must be nearby.<br>The soldier slowly pushed the room door open, and put the envelope in his pants pocket. He shivered slightly from the cool air of the hallway; he was only wearing a lightweight gray t-shirt and his typical camouflage cargo pants.  
>The tough soldier quickly knocked off the chill he felt, and started looking around. He saw the fire escape door closing, and sprinted off in its direction.<br>Before he could even get there, a large bony mass slammed into his side, knocking him down and pinning him to the ground.  
>As soon as he saw what his attacker was, the bearlike soldier's heart jumped into his throat.<br>It was a tall, but not bulky, monster...unlike anything he'd seen before. Its skin...if that was what it was...looked like leather, and it had a fur-like ring around its neck, almost like a leather jacket with a fur collar had been melted onto its bony body. Its head resembled a grinning human skull, with disturbing red and yellow eyes. It had an earring, and spiky black hair sprouted along the middle of its head, somewhat like a crude Mohawk.  
>And he was pinned down with this thing breathing in his face with no ability to move...his arms and legs were all held down by its clawed hands and feet.<br>Captain Price attempted to knock the beast off, forcing its hands off of his arms. He succeeded at freeing his upper body...until the creature pushed his chest back into the ground. He felt like his body was being crushed...as if his soul was being squeezed out of him. He gasped for breath, struggled desperately to pry the claw from his chest. The harder he tried, the harder it pushed.  
>"Get...off..." He roared, and exerted an enormous force with his entire body, flipping the creature off of him and standing in one fluid movement.<br>Now he had the advantage; he was standing, and it was on the ground. He went for a stomp at the monster's head; however, it rolled away nimbly, cackling, and he stomped at air. The creature got up dexterously and gracefully, and grabbed his neck more quickly than he could react, lifting him a foot off the ground in its iron grip. He clawed at its talons, which were wrapped tightly around his neck, slowly choking him. After about ten seconds, he fell unconscious, going limp in the beast's grip. It laid his body on the floor carelessly, as if the soldier was a discarded doll, and floated away.  
>Penber woke up when he heard Captain Price roaring at his attacker. He sat up with a start, and looked around the room for a weapon. His eyes fell on the captain's beloved M1911. He grabbed the handgun from the table, and loaded it with a .45 ACP magazine. His hands were sweating and shaking as he opened the door and aimed the weapon around the corner, moving out when he was sure nobody was there. Both directions were clear.<br>He knew he'd heard the noise from the right side of the hallway, towards the fire escape, so he moved cautiously in that direction.  
>The green glow of the exit sign was the only source of illumination in the hallway. As Penber stepped cautiously towards the fire escape door, his foot landed on a body.<br>He froze in shock, and looked down to find his captain's lifeless form sprawled on the floor, the slow rising and falling of his chest the only clue that he wasn't dead.  
>"Captain...Captain Price! Wake up!" He hissed at his commanding officer.<br>The soldier didn't respond in any way.  
>Penber stuffed the pistol into his belt and lifted the captain from under his arms, dragging him back to the room carefully. He laid the man's body on the bed, and checked him for injuries.<br>He had bruises on his neck, the center of his chest, and the right side of his torso. Whoever attacked him must've been a very powerful adversary indeed to render this remarkably battle-hardened man unconscious. Apparently, the enemy choked the soldier into unconsciousness, as the fingerlike bruises on his neck indicated.  
>Who...who could have done this? Penber was terrified. If it had attacked Price...it might come for him...or maybe it was just after the SAS captain...either way, it wasn't good.<br>The FBI rummaged around the room, looking for anything that could be used as an ice pack. He found a frozen water bottle, and placed it on the captain's bruised chest.  
>"Price-San...please wake up..." The younger man whispered.<br>As if on cue, the soldier snorted and his eyes flicked open.  
>"What...where...where am I...?" He mumbled under his breath.<br>"Captain Price! You're alright!"  
>"Of course I am...what was that...thing...that attacked me...and why is there a water bottle on my chest?"<br>"I didn't see whatever attacked you...and as for the water bottle, it's for your bruises."  
>The older man sighed, smiling slightly at Penber's consideration.<br>"Thanks, mate."  
>"No problem, sir."<br>Price propped himself up on his arms slowly, groaning.  
>"You should take it easy, sir...whatever that was, it beat you up pretty bad..."<br>"No...it's fine. I'll be fine. We...need to contact Ryo...call him for me, will you...tomorrow morning? Ask him...ask him about Shinigami..."  
>The captain collapsed back onto the bed, exhaling.<br>"Sir...are you all right?"  
>"I'm fine...just...in the innermost pocket of my backpack...there's a bottle of oxycodone pills in there...get em for me, mate..."<br>Penber knew that oxycodone was a potent painkiller, at the same level as morphine...that meant Captain Price was in severe pain; he might even have a broken rib.  
>"Sir...I think it might be better if you went to the hospital..."<br>"No...just get me those meds...I'll be fine..."  
>The<p>FBI agent reluctantly fetched the pain medication for his ailing captain, along with a glass of water. The soldier gulped one of the tablets down, sighing.  
>"Listen, Penber...don't worry yourself about me. I'm alright. It's just some bruising; I've seen worse in training."<br>"Yes, sir..." Penber said reluctantly.  
>The gruff soldier smiled through his pain.<br>"You're a great bloke, you know that, Penber?"  
>"Uh...thanks, sir."<br>"C'mere. Sit down next to me...no need to be standing there all awkward-like."  
>Penber sat down compliantly next to the soldier. He watched the methodical, rhythmic rising and falling of the man's chest. Slowly, the soldier's eyes closed, and his breathing slowed a bit.<br>It was about 4:00 in the morning...Penber needed to sleep...but he also had to watch over the SAS captain, make sure he was alright.  
>As he pulled the covers over Price's sleeping body, he was reminded of a military funeral...pulling a flag over the corpse as a shroud...<br>(No...no, I shouldn't think like that...it's stupid...he's fine, just resting, just tired. That's all. Not dead...alive, very much so. I...I'd miss him if he was...no...stop it. Enough pessimism. Get ahold of yourself, Ray Penber.)  
>He kept looking at the man's chest rise and fall, reassuring himself that he was still alive, until he dozed off himself, slumping onto the carpeted floor.<br> 


	21. Chapter 21

-  
>Chapter 20<br>Theme: Seether-Country Song  
>Trusting Secrets<p>At around 9:00 in the morning, Ray woke up to find the soldier still asleep, his expression perfectly peaceful. As he washed up and brushed his teeth, he heard the loud groaning of someone who'd just woken up.<br>Captain Price was awake now...  
>The FBI agent looked at his commanding officer.<br>He seemed to be fine, and apparently wasn't feeling any pain.  
>The well-built soldier was looking out the room's window, which had a rather mundane view of the street.<br>"Price-San...are you feeling better?"  
>"Hm? Yeah, I'm fine. Call Ryo yet?"<br>"No...I just woke up a few minutes ago, myself."  
>"Mmkay. That's fine."<br>"Something on your mind, sir?"  
>"I think...the creature that attacked me...it's a Shinigami."<br>The raven-haired FBI agent's eyes widened. A Shinigami? A...death god? How was that even possible? And how did Price-San survive a Shinigami attack?  
>"Are...are you sure? A...Shinigami?"<br>The bearlike man sighed heavily, stroking his beard in thought.  
>"Yes...it was a Shinigami. It was not human...not anywhere close to human."<br>"Price-San...if it was a Shinigami, how come...you're not dead? Or...are you...a ghost...?"  
>"I'm very much alive, laddie."<br>Penber walked up to the SAS captain and poked a finger at his chest. Price grunted and pushed the younger man's hand away gently but firmly.  
>"That...hurts, Penber...I have a bruise there..."<br>"S-sorry, sir, I forgot..."  
>"It's all right."<br>They locked eyes for a moment. Price's keen, vivid forest olivine. Penber's gentle, soft amber woodland. Their gazes didn't break. It was a second that felt like forever, windows into souls reflecting off of each other, creating a hall of mirrors, forcing each to realize that they didn't really know the other as well as they thought they did. Who ever truly knew another person, inside and out? They had to look at each other as friends and enemies. Tenuous alliances. A new day was exploding outside. And their souls were exploding inside.  
>"Penber..."<br>"Price..."  
>"Are you Kira?" They said it at the same time, and their reactions were remarkably similar.<br>Penber was hurt, offended, like a deer in the headlights.  
>Price was wounded, deeply disturbed, as if he had been backstabbed by his own brother or son.<br>"Penber...I'm not Kira. Please believe me. I trust you like a brother of mine. If Kira's holding you hostage...forcing you to do anything against your will...I have to know. I will do everything in my ability to protect you, and stop him...kill him."  
>The rough, normally grayish-green eyes of Price turned a much sharper, brighter shade of green as he said these last words. They reminded Penber of a cat's eyes, hunting its prey. He could imagine these eyes looking down the scope of a sniper rifle, locking onto a hostile helicopter with a Stinger missile, enjoying the rush that came from slashing a combat knife through his enemy's neck.<br>Normally, Price was rough, but slightly charismatic in that roguish way of his. This look had none of that likability.  
>He was a caring man, but he didn't make friends easily. Only a select few could manage to get close enough to his heart to see that warm, gentle, fatherly side of him.<br>This, right now, wasn't his uncaring public facade, nor was it his warm, loving heart.  
>This was his warrior's mask. A terrifying sight to behold. It struck fear into the hearts of whomever he fought against.<br>The glimmer of violence dissolved from his eyes as quickly as it had appeared. He returned to his normal, slightly gruff British demeanor.  
>"You can trust me, Penber. I...well...I like you, very much so. Just tell me the truth; I can take it."<br>Penber relaxed a little when the glint disappeared from Price's eyes; it didn't make his words flow any more easily.  
>"Price-San...Kira's got Naomi's name...he's making her give him the names...she told me last time..."<br>Price placed a thick, calloused hand on the younger man's trembling shoulder.  
>"Listen, Ray. I won't let you or Naomi get hurt...but I might. Is that..."<br>His words were cut off by Penber's crushing hug.  
>"Captain...Price-Taicho...Price-San...don't die...please..." The younger man sobbed.<br>"I take that to mean you don't want me to be maimed or killed?"  
>There was no response from Penber, other than more tears, and holding his beloved captain even closer.<br>"Oi! I'll try not to die, alright mate? You don't need to cry me an ocean, I get the point."  
>Penner pulled away from the muscular, bearlike captain, his face wet with tears.<br>"I'm...sorry about that, sir...it wasn't very proper...was it...?"  
>"Eh, it's fine. If you don't mind, I'll call Ryo now..."<br>"Okay."  
>The SAS captain sighed, pulling out his phone and punching in Ryo's frequency.<br>It rang twice, and then the aforementioned hacker picked it up.  
>"Yo. Something happen?"<br>"Ryo...never thought I'd be glad to hear your voice. I need you to teach me about Shinigami...especially their physical attributes."  
>"Sure... Well. They're rather tall, usually have wings, bony bodies, look pretty damn ugly, dark colors like black and brown, always have red and yellow eyes, and can only be seen by someone who's touched any part of the Death Note. Shinigami follow the owner of the Death Note wherever they go. They can't be killed by physical means. A Shinigami is not allowed to kill anyone by any means other than the Death Note they carry."<br>"Wait...Shinigami can't be killed?"  
>"No, unfortunately they can't be killed by physical methods. There are ways to kill them...however, they are very convoluted and clumsy, such as making the ugly critter fall in love with you and kill someone to save your life."<br>"And...what are Shinigami eyes?"  
>"It's a special ability that any Death Note owner can activate by trading half their remaining lifespan away in exchange for the ability to see anybody's real name and lifespan just by looking at their face."<br>"And that allows the owner of the note to kill anyone...just by looking at them and writing their real name."  
>"Precisely. Any more questions?"<br>"What extent of control can a Death Note exert on an individual?"  
>"It can make them do anything that is physically possible of them for up to twenty-three days before their deaths. Suicide is always a valid cause of death, by the way."<br>"Huh. Okay, that's...helpful..."  
>"No problem. Good luck catching Kira."<br>"You too, Ryo."  
>He clicked the implant off, sighing and running a hand through his graying brown hair.<br>"Sir...what happened?" Penber was still sniffing, but he'd mostly regained his composure by now.  
>"There's good news and bad news."<br>"Give me the bad news."  
>"The thing that attacked me was a Shinigami. And, since it could interact with me, I have somehow come into contact with some portion of the Death Note. Light can control anyone for up to twenty-three days before their deaths; he could be controlling any one of us right now. There is the potential that Light will trade half his remaining lifespan to get Shinigami eyes, which allow him to see the remaining lifespan and name of anyone whose face he sees; if he goes for that, he can kill anyone with just a glance at their face."<br>"And what's the good news?"  
>"The good news is that Shinigami can't kill people by any means other than a Death Note, and that they're supposed to follow the note's owner everywhere."<br>"Well, what good is that?"  
>"The Shinigami that attacked me...means that there was a Death Note user nearby. Maybe even Light. Or someone else."<br>"That isn't very good, is it..."  
>"Good enough for me. The more we know about our enemy, the better."<br>"Price-San...why'd you go out in that hallway, anyway?"  
>"Heard something odd, went out to investigate. Saw the fire escape door closing, so I went after whoever it was. Then that Shinigami jumped me."<br>Captain Price conveniently omitted the part about the letter he found...he still hadn't read it. It might be from Light...or Naomi...or someone else. He hoped it was Naomi. Light seemed to be a tough nut to crack. Penber's fiancee was much more pleasant to deal with. She reminded him of Kate...the same cool demeanor...  
>His heart ached for his family. James...Sandy...Kate. He remembered them all so vividly from five years ago. That was when his tour in Georgia had begun. And when he'd developed his vindictive hatred towards everything Russian. He was still sickened by even hearing the names Ivan or Dimitri. The man didn't have anything against the Russian people themselves; it was just that he associated the language...the names, with enemies firing at him. He knew it was PTSD, or some form of it. He knew he should've gotten it treated, gotten help from somewhere, anywhere. But he pushed through. He was proud...he didn't like admitting he had a problem. And the nightmares kept coming back. Every single night. Every time, it was the same...his mind bending, squeezing out every bitter memory from his entire life.<br>He had to face his demons.  
>"Price...Price-San...something wrong? You're spacing out on me..."<br>"Hm? Yeah. Sorry about that. Don't mind me. Just an old soldier reminiscing about his time on the battlefield."  
>"Price-San...you can talk to me, too. I'll listen..."<br>The older man smiled and sighed.  
>"Maybe when this is all through, I'll take you and Naomi camping...tell both of you my war stories around the fire."<br>"That sounds nice."  
>"It does, doesn't it? Let's get to work. We still have a shot at going before the end of summer if we can nail Kira soon. Might even be able to bring my kids along...who knows."<br>They washed up and put fresh clothing on; Price, as per habit, trimmed his beard.  
>The SAS captain wore a black lightweight jacket, gray-pixel load-bearing vest, military pants, and his distinctive slouch hat.<br>The younger FBI agent dressed in a blue-and-white pin-striped shirt, black fleece vest, and khakis.  
>Price attracted about one-hundred and fifty times the attention Penber did.<br> 


	22. Chapter 22

-  
>Chapter 21<br>Theme: Moby-Raining Again  
>Tragedy<p>Penber and Price kept a comfortable distance between each other; far enough so the older man wouldn't be associated with the FBI agent, but close enough to allow them to get to each other quickly in case of danger. The crowd kept getting thicker as they moved through the gaudily-decorated urban shopping centers of Tokyo.<br>Light had a habit of going to this particular mall, typically once a week, on Saturday mornings. He never went alone; the amber-haired teen was always accompanied by his girlfriend, a journalism student from the high school they'd both attended. She'd been identified by Penber a few days ago as Kiyomi Takada...and according to her blog, she was a major supporter of Kira. A likely candidate for the second Kira.

As Penber approached the cafe where Light typically met up with Takada before going shopping at the mall or watching a movie, he saw a familiar tuft of black hair sticking out from behind a newspaper. He recognized it as belonging to Naomi...she always had trouble keeping that one bit of hair from poking out of her otherwise well-kempt hair.  
>Was she following them?<p>

It couldn't hurt...she was one more person...as capable as he was, if not even more so. Penber decided against striking up a conversation with her; he didn't want to blow her cover. Instead, he just went inside, and sat at a table that would appear random to most observers, but was actually carefully selected. Not too close to the entrance, but it still provided a good view of whoever came in and out. It was clearly visible from the bench Captain Price was situated on, coolly sipping a steaming hot Earl Grey tea from his dark-blue travel mug.

Damnit...that sounded good. Penber ordered an Earl Gray in lieu of his regular latte...the tea wasn't quite as good as if he'd brewed it himself, but the hot drink still refreshed and energized the FBI agent.  
>He barely noticed the young, hazel-haired man sitting down at the table next to his, until his implant buzzed. He scratched behind his ear, activating the device.<p>

"Penber...don't talk, don't do anything out of the norm. Light's sitting at the table right behind you...I think...bugger...he's got a notebook...he's writing something down."  
>Penber's pulse accelerated. Kira was behind him...no. He had to stay calm. Keep his cool. He couldn't afford to slip up right now...it could mean his, Naomi's, and Price's deaths...<p>

He glanced at Naomi...she appeared to be entirely absorbed in her newspaper. Ray knew she'd noticed Light's entrance into the shop, though; the former FBI agent was too good to make such an amateur mistake as missing her suspect.  
>After a few minutes, Light got up, paid his bill, and left...without Takada. That was extremely irregular of him. He never left without first meeting up with his girlfriend.<br>Did he just write...their names? Didn't the note take effect immediately? Or did Light simply write a circumstance of death?  
>Penber felt a sudden urge to go outside and breathe some fresh air. He couldn't help himself...the young FBI investigator just walked out of the cafe. It was as if he were in a dream...he couldn't control his actions. His body moved without his mind's approval; instead of his own will dictating his actions, an outside force was encroaching on every fiber of his being, forcing him to follow its commands, like a puppet made to dance by the puppet master.<br>Right now...the puppet master was telling him to cross the road, carefully, steadily, no stopping...  
>"Penber! Stop!" Price growled under his breath.<br>The raven-haired FBI agent didn't seem to comprehend a single word the SAS captain told him. He was entirely oblivious to the truck, until the pain shot through his entire system.  
>The initial impact was the most agonizing part. The sickening crack of bone breaking was all Penber could hear. His ribs were forced into his internal organs, piercing and crushing. His hip felt like it'd been hit by a sledgehammer, fractured into multiple pieces. And finally, his head hit the road, sending the young man into blissful unconsciousness.<br>Within a matter of seconds, there were several people clustered around Penber's bloody, bruised body. The husky, bearded soldier was desperately attempting to revive him, compressing his chest, performing artificial respiration, doing whatever he could to pull Penber back from the brink.

But his noble struggle failed to avert fate. The death had been written, and so it would be.  
>Penber's heart stopped beating, life-giving blood stagnant in his veins. His last breath had already escaped his lips; he no longer had any time left to live. <p>


	23. Chapter 23

-  
>Chapter 22<br>Theme: Harry Gregson Williams-Sorrow  
>Stand Up<p>

Ray Penber, 10:48 A.M, Wednesday, June 29th, 2011. Cause of death: massive internal bleeding and hemorrhaging caused by impact with a motor vehicle.  
>That was what the coroner had determined.<br>Only God, three humans, and one Shinigami knew the truth.  
>And one of the humans was Kira.<br>The funeral was in five days, in a Tokyo cemetery.  
>Price mourned for three days.<br>He spent the days pacing around his tiny hotel room, playing with his M1911, contemplating suicide, life, and death. He grappled with Penber's death. He had been so lively...so hopeful. He shed tears for the first time in five years. The gruff, bearlike Briton slowly broke down, reduced to an emotional car wreck...like the one that had taken his friend's life.

On the fourth day, his resolve hardened, solidified. It had been tempered from this trial by fire. He read the letter...it was a threat from Kira. If Penber didn't give the name of the man protecting him to Light, he'd die. Price vowed revenge. When he swore...when he promised...he kept his promises. He kept his oaths.

On the day of the funeral, a sunny 4th of July, the stoic Englishman was standing at attention amongst the mourners, dressed in his well-ironed officer's ceremonial uniform. He saluted Ray Penber, one of his few friends, for the first and last time, and said a short prayer from his heart as he kneeled by the coffin. He prayed for the young man's peace, for God to give him the strength to complete the responsibility Ray had been entrusted with.  
>Nobody but the departed soul knew who, exactly, this rugged military man was, or why he was mourning a young Japanese-American FBI agent.<br>He swore on his friend's grave...he would capture Kira. It was Ray Penber's task, and now it fell to Johnathan Price to complete it.  
>He had to finish alone what they'd started together.<br>As he was preparing to leave the cemetery, a familiar face grabbed his attention. It belonged to Ryo, who was conversing with Shijuro Asahi...the chief of police.  
>He strode over to the men, greeting Ryo, and ignoring Shijuro.<br>"I'm very sorry for your loss, Captain." Ryo said. It seemed like he really meant it.  
>"Don't worry about me. I'm fine." Price said quietly.<br>"Price-San...I'm here for you, if there's anything I can do..." The policeman said.  
>"What you can do is arrest Light Yagami and give me ten minutes alone in a room with him."<br>"He may be a Kira suspect, but I'm not about to let someone like you get anywhere close to him...he's my son, after all."  
>"How ironic. The police chief's son is a mass murderer." Price smirked slightly.<br>"Asahi-San...you seriously screwed up there." Ryo grumbled.  
>"No wonder Kira isn't rotting in prison. His pops is the big ole police chief, and Light's being daddy's perfect little boy...isn't that right, Yagami?"<br>Price could see veins in the police chief's neck enlarging.  
>"Kisama! I'll kill you!"<br>"Try it. Just try it, muppet. You'll be six feet under."  
>"Now, now, gentlemen. We are all reasonable adults here, not animals. Let's not kill each other."<br>The two looked at Ryo, glowering.  
>He shrugged.<br>"I don't see what's the big deal. Kira or not, torture isn't allowed under the Geneva Conventions. Nobody will be killing anyone here. This is a funeral. Do you think Mr. Penber would be pleased by seeing you two fighting like this? I didn't think so either. Now...split it up. Let's go, Shijuro."  
>The two investigators left, the older one glancing over his shoulder nervously.<br>Price sighed, grumbling.  
>He felt a hand rest softly on his shoulder...it reminded him of Penber's.<br>He looked behind him.  
>It was Naomi; her bright face was shadowed by a cloud of sorrow.<br>"Oh...hey." The soldier growled quietly.  
>"How are you dealing with...it?"<br>"I miss him...a lot. He was like a son to me."  
>Price rubbed his temples.<br>"We were engaged...going to get married in a month or so...he had a place in San Francisco...we took the job to

find Kira because my parents lived here, and he wanted to meet them..."  
>She sniffed, blinking tears away.<br>"He was a hero, Naomi. Don't...waste your life mourning over him."  
>"Is that what you meant...when I met you?"<br>"No...that was different. I've lost someone I cared...care...about before. But it was different then. What I meant was that you two should keep each other close...don't let pathetic things like work break you apart."  
>"That's what happened with you?"<br>"Yeah...my wife divorced me because I was always deployed...she said I was never there...that I didn't care about her...and James...and Sandy."  
>"Your kids?"<br>"Yeah. They're five and six now. Haven't seen 'em for five years...ever since my deployment to Georgia."  
>"That must be really hard..."<br>"It was...still is. I take a photo of them with me...everywhere I go. Reminds me who I'm fighting for."  
>"That's sweet...bittersweet, I suppose."<br>"Yeah, it is, isn't it? I've only told you and Ross...my commanding officer...about this. Everyone else thinks we broke up because of my PTSD."  
>"You have PTSD?"<br>"Mmhm. Anything that stirs up memories of Russians...just...gives me flashbacks of things I'd rather forget. And every night...there's the bloody nightmares. Keep remembering a squad mate of mine...Williams...got captured...found him later...his neck was slashed open...face beaten in...those Ultranationalist bastards were interrogating him. That was in my first week of deployment in the war between Russia and Georgia."  
>"Wait...the UK was involved in that? I thought..."<br>"Officially, we had nothing to do with it. Unofficially, we were helping out the Georgian rebels. Heh. My squad is one of those little things that the politicians don't let anyone hear about. Best of the SAS, doing the dirty work on the ground for the people behind the scenes. If we got captured or killed, nobody would hear about it for years. Nobody would help us if we got in a tight spot. We had to manage by ourselves. Extraction was at a certain time, certain place. You either got there, or you didn't get out. For the last five years...since Williams...every man has come out alive. We were handpicked for the job...human weapons. Expensive, but ultimately expendable."  
>"John...that's terrible."<br>"I got used to it."  
>"You aren't a weapon...you're a human being...with emotions...a heart."<br>"I've realized that a long time ago, Naomi. I can't speak out about it...because if I did, I'd be hunted down; a traitor. Barely anyone would believe me, anyway. They'd call me delusional, a madman; I'd be locked away and forgotten."  
>"John...you aren't insane...and people will listen. You just need to be a hero...capture Kira. If you can just manage that..."<br>"I'm already a dirty little secret, to be uncovered in a hundred years by historians. It doesn't make a difference what people think of me. A rule of thumb is that people are stupid. They follow society blindly, not stopping to think...what is the human cost of their lifestyle? Who are fighting the wars that keep them safe? We soldiers...we're pets. Trained beasts, to be unleashed on the field of war. Kept at a safe distance from their owners, used as needed, and dumped into society when they're worn out or injured. The most manageable and politically proper officers are elevated to generals and commanders."  
>"...no..."<br>"I've gotten used to it, what can I say? The truth hurts, but there's no running away from it."  
>"John...you can't...live like that."<br>"Sure I can, love. Been doing it for the last twenty years."  
>Naomi was quiet; after a few seconds of thought, she responded.<br>"You don't have to. You can be a hero...someone who's made a difference in the world."  
>"Already done that. I'm a hero to my squad members...and that's all I care about. Only reason I'm going after Kira now...is to finish what I've started."<br>"That's your attitude? Don't you...want to be remembered?"  
>"No. I don't. All I want is...safety, for my family, my troops...for you."<br>"Isn't that reason enough? If you want to keep me safe...Kira can't exist. He knows my name..."  
>"I never said I wouldn't help you, Naomi. Let's roll."<br>"That's the attitude I like to see!"  
> <div> 


	24. Chapter 24

-  
>Chapter 24<br>Theme: 30 Seconds to Mars-Savior  
>Agonizing Pain<p>There was a window...it looked over a forested area, and the fall seemed safe enough.<br>The soldier opened the window, balancing himself precariously on its edge.  
>He took a leap of faith, slowly coming to realize that the Yagami residence was about a meter or two higher than two stories.<br>Captain Price braced himself for a painful impact...which was exactly what he got.  
>A sickening crack echoed through his body as he landed on his right leg, which smashed into a large rock.<br>Excruciating pain shot through his leg's nerve endings as the bone fractured from the force of the violent impact.  
>The captain gasped and held back a screaming roar of agony. He breathed through clenched teeth, moaning and falling onto his back, staring with weary eyes at the now-overcast sky. His right leg was fractured. It was getting cold. But he had the Death Note, which was a start.<br>He rolled over cautiously, attempting to prevent his right leg from moving too much. Despite his best efforts, it still hurt like hell.  
>He groped around his vest for something, anything to relieve the pain. He found an autoinjector...filled with a 100mg dose of morphine. It would reduce the pain...but it would also decrease his visual and motor capabilities.<br>He pulled his pants down enough to expose a bit of his right thigh and stabbed the injector into the flesh, causing the device to release its anesthetic payload with a hiss.  
>He quickly pulled it out once the indicator on the back turned red, revealing that the automatic needle's contents had been emptied into his bloodstream.<br>The man pulled his pants back up, feeling the potent opiate coursing through his veins, numbing his senses.  
>He could almost get up now...he had to find something to lean on. He grabbed a tree trunk, pulling on it with all his might, and shoved himself up with his intact left leg.<br>The soldier just needed a walking stick or crutch of sorts...he found a long, solid stick on the ground. That would have to do. He dropped to the left, picked it up with his left hand, and shoved himself up, swapping it into his right.  
>As he was doing that, he slipped and fell on his broken leg, causing the fractured bone to grate and fire agonizing pain through his morphine-dulled nerves. He grunted in agony, collapsing to the left as he clutched at his injury.<br>He was no longer a jaunty twenty-seven year old sergeant. He was an aging thirty-nine year old captain.  
>But...he was still as tough as any young sergeant. He gritted his teeth and pushed through the pain, moving up on his left leg, leaning on the stick for support. He forced his right leg up, placing his foot onto a protruding bit of the stick.<br>His mind willed his body to move.  
>And so it did.<br>He shoved his left leg forwards heavily, and did the same with his stick.  
>It had been an hour so far...one hour. He was supposed to have contacted Naomi by now. In another hour...she would come looking for him.<br>He sat down after walking several meters, and pulled his small military-issue GPS from his vest pocket.  
>He switched it on, and shielded the black and white screen with his hand.<br>There was a major road...about a kilometer north.  
>Could he do 1 kilometer in an hour?<br>Possible...but unlikely.  
>He went for it anyway, getting back up.<br>He dealt with the pain for another half-hour, over which he hobbled about 500 meters.  
>By half an hour through, the pain had gotten so excruciating, even the morphine couldn't suppress it. He patted himself down, finding a small bottle of 325 mg paracetamol and 20mg codeine tablets.<br>Not quite morphine, but the husky captain needed as much relief as he could get.  
>Over the next half-hour, he stopped a few times to swallow down more of the painkillers.<br>The SAS captain knew better than to accidentally OD, of course. Captain Price was a squad medic, an expert on field medicine; he knew exactly how much of any given drug his biology could take before fatal organ damage occurred.  
>Right now...he wasn't doing his body any favors, but he needed the drugs to get past the splitting pain in his leg.<br>He flipped his GPS open once more once he'd gotten to the two hour mark. Only a hundred meters to the road...  
>He clicked his com-link on, connecting to Naomi's frequency.<br>She picked up quickly.  
>"John? Oh, god...are you okay?"<br>"Listen, Naomi. I'm a hundred meters south of the highway that runs past the forest...north of the Yagami house...about 1 kilometer due north. I...need you to get me out of here. My bloody leg's killing me...bring some oxycodone, if you have any...used about 100 milligrams of morphine...1 gram of paracetamol... 60 milligrams codeine..."  
>The words morphine and oxycodone set off red flags in the FBI agent's mind. Those were some of the most potent analgesic drugs...only an extreme injury would warrant that level of medication. What had the bearlike soldier gotten himself into?<br>"John...what happened? Talk to me!"  
>No answer.<br>"John! Damn it, Johnathan Price! Answer me!"  
>There was no response.<br>"John...no..."  
>The link clicked off, a resounding beep echoing through on Naomi's side.<br>She looked up Price's location...it wasn't too far...she'd be able to get there in ten minutes, tops. Naomi rummaged through her medicine cabinet, noting that there was a bottle of aspirin tabs...those probably wouldn't have any effect at that level of pain. She looked harder. Paracetamol? No...the captain already had a full gram of that in his system...any more, and he'd have even more serious problems than anything he could be experiencing right now.  
>She pulled on a jacket over her gray long-sleeved t-shirt.<br>(Price...just hold on a little longer...you can't die on me now. Not now. You're so close. We're so close. Don't die now...you can't...you're stronger than that...stay alive for me, Price.)  
>She started up the car, a sunshine-yellow Mazda Speed3, and revved its tiny engine, rolling it out of the driveway nimbly.<br>Her mind was numb as she drove...for some reason, she was trying to remember the ideal exposure time settings on her digital camera...something completely irrelevant to the task at hand. It acted like a mental anesthetic, to keep her from thinking too hard about Captain Price's condition...she hoped it was just a broken arm...not something more serious...not a concussion...  
>She snapped out of the mental rut she was in once her GPS beeped to alert her that she'd reached her destination.<br>She pulled the car over on the left side of the road, jumping out.  
>"John! John...where are you? Shout if you hear me!"<br>"I'm here!" The voice was somewhat distant...but it definitely belonged to the SAS captain. And he sounded like he was in severe pain.  
>"Hold tight! I'm coming!"<br>She brushed the tall grass aside, whacking at the brush with her arms to move in the direction of the man's rough voice.  
>As the brush got thicker, she shouted again.<br>"John! Where are you!"  
>"Over here!"<br>She was getting closer...much closer. It was a matter of tens of meters now...  
>Suddenly, Naomi noticed a slow, shifting movement in the tall grass, and heard a low groan coming from the same direction.<br>She brushed the grass aside to discover Captain Price laying in the grass, keen green eyes dull, one arm on his chest, which was rising and falling steadily.  
>There was no obvious external damage...it was a broken bone, then.<br>"Naomi...thank you..." He said quietly, his eyes darting to the young woman's concerned features.  
>"Where's the injury?"<br>"Right leg...it's fractured...don't move it..."  
>"All right...but...I have to get you out of here..."<br>"I'll stand on my left leg, and lean on you..."  
>Naomi pulled up John from his right arm, below the shoulder; he thrust up with his left leg, leaning onto her. She leaned down, picked up the soldier's impromptu crutch, and handed it to him. The bearded man grasped it in his left hand.<br>"Ready?" Naomi asked.  
>John grunted in affirmation.<br>She stepped cautiously forwards, and the injured man followed. This process continued until they reached the car, at which point, Captain Price leaned on the hatchback instead of Naomi, as she folded down the seats and opened the trunk, allowing him to lay down comfortably.  
>He carefully seated himself on the lip of the small car's trunk, shoving his body in using his arms and good leg. Naomi pulled him in the rest of the way, so both his legs were safely inside; then, she closed the hatch and climbed back into the front, starting the car up.<br>The FBI agent felt a light tap on her shoulder, and glanced back, finding the SAS operative holding the Death Note, offering it to her, a wry smile on his battered, weary face. She grinned and placed in the messenger bag that lay on the seat next to her.  
>"Thanks...so much, Price."<br>"Hm."  
>"Hey...how's that leg of yours? Need something for it?"<p>

She looked behind her to find the soldier asleep, breath whispering quietly in and out of his lungs, every now and then interrupted by a slight snort. A contented expression was clear to see on his chiseled, worn face.  
>Naomi smiled slightly as she drove him to the hospital...he was such a nice, gentle guy...very lovable for an SAS captain. As she parked the bright-yellow hatchback at the hospital's ER entrance, the FBI agent switched her demeanor from American to Japanese.<br>"I have a man with a broken leg here...it's hurting him pretty bad. I think he's taken morphine and paracetamol so far."  
>"All right then...where is he?"<br>"In the car...I need some help getting him out."  
>"Okay. Hanataro! Get a wheelchair!"<br>A young medic grabbed a wheelchair and rolled it out behind Naomi's car. The two lifted Price from his waist, pulling him cautiously onto the chair.  
>As he was placed onto the chair, his lively grayish-green eyes snapped open, and started flicking around the scene.<br>One medic, Japanese. Naomi Misora. He was apparently at the emergency entrance of a hospital, on a wheelchair. His right leg was still engulfed in grinding, shooting pain, especially now that the last of the paracetamol was wearing off.  
>A slight groan escaped his lips, causing Naomi to lean in towards him with concern.<br>"Hey...John...stay with me here. What drugs have you used?"  
>He pulled a small half-used bottle that was labeled for paracetamol-codeine tablets from his vest pocket, handing it to Naomi.<br>Then he revealed a used 100mg morphine autoinjector from another pocket, also giving it to the FBI agent.  
>"I...used all of it..."<br>She handed the containers to the medic, who gaped slightly. The autoinjector was labeled for use by SAS forces.  
>Captain Price's vision slowly faded as the shooting pain in his leg increased. The adrenaline he'd been running on for the past hour and a half was wearing off...the fact that the morphine was beyond its peak didn't help him any...<br>When he came to, he was laying in a hospital bed, his leg in a cast, an IV drip in his arm...wearing a bloody hospital robe.  
>John Price hated hospitals.<br>He didn't realize how much rest he'd needed...he was feeling extremely tired.  
>He closed his eyes once more, and tried to sleep. <p>


	25. Chapter 25

-  
>Chapter 24<br>Theme: 30 Seconds to Mars-Savior  
>Agonizing Pain<p>There was a window...it looked over a forested area, and the fall seemed safe enough.<br>The soldier opened the window, balancing himself precariously on its edge.  
>He took a leap of faith, slowly coming to realize that the Yagami residence was about a meter or two higher than two stories.<br>Captain Price braced himself for a painful impact...which was exactly what he got.  
>A sickening crack echoed through his body as he landed on his right leg, which smashed into a large rock.<br>Excruciating pain shot through his leg's nerve endings as the bone fractured from the force of the violent impact.  
>The captain gasped and held back a screaming roar of agony. He breathed through clenched teeth, moaning and falling onto his back, staring with weary eyes at the now-overcast sky. His right leg was fractured. It was getting cold. But he had the Death Note, which was a start.<br>He rolled over cautiously, attempting to prevent his right leg from moving too much. Despite his best efforts, it still hurt like hell.  
>He groped around his vest for something, anything to relieve the pain. He found an autoinjector...filled with a 100mg dose of morphine. It would reduce the pain...but it would also decrease his visual and motor capabilities.<br>He pulled his pants down enough to expose a bit of his right thigh and stabbed the injector into the flesh, causing the device to release its anesthetic payload with a hiss.  
>He quickly pulled it out once the indicator on the back turned red, revealing that the automatic needle's contents had been emptied into his bloodstream.<br>The man pulled his pants back up, feeling the potent opiate coursing through his veins, numbing his senses.  
>He could almost get up now...he had to find something to lean on. He grabbed a tree trunk, pulling on it with all his might, and shoved himself up with his intact left leg.<br>The soldier just needed a walking stick or crutch of sorts...he found a long, solid stick on the ground. That would have to do. He dropped to the left, picked it up with his left hand, and shoved himself up, swapping it into his right.  
>As he was doing that, he slipped and fell on his broken leg, causing the fractured bone to grate and fire agonizing pain through his morphine-dulled nerves. He grunted in agony, collapsing to the left as he clutched at his injury.<br>He was no longer a jaunty twenty-seven year old sergeant. He was an aging thirty-nine year old captain.  
>But...he was still as tough as any young sergeant. He gritted his teeth and pushed through the pain, moving up on his left leg, leaning on the stick for support. He forced his right leg up, placing his foot onto a protruding bit of the stick.<br>His mind willed his body to move.  
>And so it did.<br>He shoved his left leg forwards heavily, and did the same with his stick.  
>It had been an hour so far...one hour. He was supposed to have contacted Naomi by now. In another hour...she would come looking for him.<br>He sat down after walking several meters, and pulled his small military-issue GPS from his vest pocket.  
>He switched it on, and shielded the black and white screen with his hand.<br>There was a major road...about a kilometer north.  
>Could he do 1 kilometer in an hour?<br>Possible...but unlikely.  
>He went for it anyway, getting back up.<br>He dealt with the pain for another half-hour, over which he hobbled about 500 meters.  
>By half an hour through, the pain had gotten so excruciating, even the morphine couldn't suppress it. He patted himself down, finding a small bottle of 325 mg paracetamol and 20mg codeine tablets.<br>Not quite morphine, but the husky captain needed as much relief as he could get.  
>Over the next half-hour, he stopped a few times to swallow down more of the painkillers.<br>The SAS captain knew better than to accidentally OD, of course. Captain Price was a squad medic, an expert on field medicine; he knew exactly how much of any given drug his biology could take before fatal organ damage occurred.  
>Right now...he wasn't doing his body any favors, but he needed the drugs to get past the splitting pain in his leg.<br>He flipped his GPS open once more once he'd gotten to the two hour mark. Only a hundred meters to the road...  
>He clicked his com-link on, connecting to Naomi's frequency.<br>She picked up quickly.  
>"John? Oh, god...are you okay?"<br>"Listen, Naomi. I'm a hundred meters south of the highway that runs past the forest...north of the Yagami house...about 1 kilometer due north. I...need you to get me out of here. My bloody leg's killing me...bring some oxycodone, if you have any...used about 100 milligrams of morphine...1 gram of paracetamol... 60 milligrams codeine..."  
>The words morphine and oxycodone set off red flags in the FBI agent's mind. Those were some of the most potent analgesic drugs...only an extreme injury would warrant that level of medication. What had the bearlike soldier gotten himself into?<br>"John...what happened? Talk to me!"  
>No answer.<br>"John! Damn it, Johnathan Price! Answer me!"  
>There was no response.<br>"John...no..."  
>The link clicked off, a resounding beep echoing through on Naomi's side.<br>She looked up Price's location...it wasn't too far...she'd be able to get there in ten minutes, tops. Naomi rummaged through her medicine cabinet, noting that there was a bottle of aspirin tabs...those probably wouldn't have any effect at that level of pain. She looked harder. Paracetamol? No...the captain already had a full gram of that in his system...any more, and he'd have even more serious problems than anything he could be experiencing right now.  
>She pulled on a jacket over her gray long-sleeved t-shirt.<br>(Price...just hold on a little longer...you can't die on me now. Not now. You're so close. We're so close. Don't die now...you can't...you're stronger than that...stay alive for me, Price.)  
>She started up the car, a sunshine-yellow Mazda Speed3, and revved its tiny engine, rolling it out of the driveway nimbly.<br>Her mind was numb as she drove...for some reason, she was trying to remember the ideal exposure time settings on her digital camera...something completely irrelevant to the task at hand. It acted like a mental anesthetic, to keep her from thinking too hard about Captain Price's condition...she hoped it was just a broken arm...not something more serious...not a concussion...  
>She snapped out of the mental rut she was in once her GPS beeped to alert her that she'd reached her destination.<br>She pulled the car over on the left side of the road, jumping out.  
>"John! John...where are you? Shout if you hear me!"<br>"I'm here!" The voice was somewhat distant...but it definitely belonged to the SAS captain. And he sounded like he was in severe pain.  
>"Hold tight! I'm coming!"<br>She brushed the tall grass aside, whacking at the brush with her arms to move in the direction of the man's rough voice.  
>As the brush got thicker, she shouted again.<br>"John! Where are you!"  
>"Over here!"<br>She was getting closer...much closer. It was a matter of tens of meters now...  
>Suddenly, Naomi noticed a slow, shifting movement in the tall grass, and heard a low groan coming from the same direction.<br>She brushed the grass aside to discover Captain Price laying in the grass, keen green eyes dull, one arm on his chest, which was rising and falling steadily.  
>There was no obvious external damage...it was a broken bone, then.<br>"Naomi...thank you..." He said quietly, his eyes darting to the young woman's concerned features.  
>"Where's the injury?"<br>"Right leg...it's fractured...don't move it..."  
>"All right...but...I have to get you out of here..."<br>"I'll stand on my left leg, and lean on you..."  
>Naomi pulled up John from his right arm, below the shoulder; he thrust up with his left leg, leaning onto her. She leaned down, picked up the soldier's impromptu crutch, and handed it to him. The bearded man grasped it in his left hand.<br>"Ready?" Naomi asked.  
>John grunted in affirmation.<br>She stepped cautiously forwards, and the injured man followed. This process continued until they reached the car, at which point, Captain Price leaned on the hatchback instead of Naomi, as she folded down the seats and opened the trunk, allowing him to lay down comfortably.  
>He carefully seated himself on the lip of the small car's trunk, shoving his body in using his arms and good leg. Naomi pulled him in the rest of the way, so both his legs were safely inside; then, she closed the hatch and climbed back into the front, starting the car up.<br>The FBI agent felt a light tap on her shoulder, and glanced back, finding the SAS operative holding the Death Note, offering it to her, a wry smile on his battered, weary face. She grinned and placed in the messenger bag that lay on the seat next to her.  
>"Thanks...so much, Price."<br>"Hm."  
>"Hey...how's that leg of yours? Need something for it?"<p>

She looked behind her to find the soldier asleep, breath whispering quietly in and out of his lungs, every now and then interrupted by a slight snort. A contented expression was clear to see on his chiseled, worn face.  
>Naomi smiled slightly as she drove him to the hospital...he was such a nice, gentle guy...very lovable for an SAS captain. As she parked the bright-yellow hatchback at the hospital's ER entrance, the FBI agent switched her demeanor from American to Japanese.<br>"I have a man with a broken leg here...it's hurting him pretty bad. I think he's taken morphine and paracetamol so far."  
>"All right then...where is he?"<br>"In the car...I need some help getting him out."  
>"Okay. Hanataro! Get a wheelchair!"<br>A young medic grabbed a wheelchair and rolled it out behind Naomi's car. The two lifted Price from his waist, pulling him cautiously onto the chair.  
>As he was placed onto the chair, his lively grayish-green eyes snapped open, and started flicking around the scene.<br>One medic, Japanese. Naomi Misora. He was apparently at the emergency entrance of a hospital, on a wheelchair. His right leg was still engulfed in grinding, shooting pain, especially now that the last of the paracetamol was wearing off.  
>A slight groan escaped his lips, causing Naomi to lean in towards him with concern.<br>"Hey...John...stay with me here. What drugs have you used?"  
>He pulled a small half-used bottle that was labeled for paracetamol-codeine tablets from his vest pocket, handing it to Naomi.<br>Then he revealed a used 100mg morphine autoinjector from another pocket, also giving it to the FBI agent.  
>"I...used all of it..."<br>She handed the containers to the medic, who gaped slightly. The autoinjector was labeled for use by SAS forces.  
>Captain Price's vision slowly faded as the shooting pain in his leg increased. The adrenaline he'd been running on for the past hour and a half was wearing off...the fact that the morphine was beyond its peak didn't help him any...<br>When he came to, he was laying in a hospital bed, his leg in a cast, an IV drip in his arm...wearing a bloody hospital robe.  
>John Price hated hospitals.<br>He didn't realize how much rest he'd needed...he was feeling extremely tired.  
>He closed his eyes once more, and tried to sleep. <p>


	26. Chapter 26

-  
>Chapter 25<br>Theme: Pendulum-9000 Miles  
>Passing The Torch<p>His attempt at resting was interrupted as someone opened the room door. The bearlike soldier expressed his annoyance by growling slightly, grabbing his keffiyeh from the table next to him, and pulling it over his face.<br>"Sod off...I'm trying to sleep..."  
>He didn't really care who it was; not even Naomi could make him want to wake up right now.<br>"Captain Price...another accident, I see?"  
>It was Ryo.<br>"I said sod off, muppet." His growl was muffled by the scarf covering his face.  
>"Hey...just checking on ya. Hear you got the note. Naomi says she burned it."<br>"Good. Now let me sleep...my bloody leg's broken, all right? I'm not in the mood for talkin."  
>"Just letting you know, mate. I'll be seeing you around."<br>Ryo left as quickly as he'd entered, much to the captain's relief.  
>Meanwhile, Naomi was looking through the notes Ray and John had taken on Light. He had two notes, but they'd only found and destroyed one. The other...where was it? The notes mentioned a girlfriend but not her name or address.<br>John might know.  
>She pushed the transceiver on, selecting the SAS operative's frequency, which was 141.80.<br>It rang three times, and then Captain Price picked up.  
>"Naomi?" He growled hoarsely.<br>"John...I need to know the name of the second Kira suspect."  
>"Kiyomi Takada. She's Light's girlfriend...if you follow the boy, he'll lead you straight to her."<br>"Okay, thanks."  
>"Wait...Naomi. Don't follow him. He'll kill you. Let me...let me do it...I'll be better in a couple of weeks."<br>"We don't have that long, John."  
>"Don't tail Light. That's an order, Naomi."<br>"Maybe we should ask Ryuuzaki."  
>"No. He has no regard for our lives. He'd kill you with his own two hands if it led to Kira's capture. He's heartless."<br>"I've worked with him before...in LA. He's skilled, and he does care about me."  
>"Naomi...don't fool yourself. I've dealt with people like him before. Living in their own royal fortress, ordering people around like chess pieces. We're pawns. Just like in the SAS. I was a weapon, a tool. I don't want that to happen to you...I care about you, Naomi. I...well...I...love you."<br>Naomi sighed.  
>"I...know. But...I feel like I have to do this myself...just to get some sort of closure...revenge...for Ray."<br>"Look. I'm not going to let you get hurt. Don't do this. I'll find someone else to do it..."  
>"Who? The police chief? One of the investigators? Another SAS operative? Look, you have to face reality. I am the only person you've got on your side right now."<br>"Not even close, love. I've got Colonel MacMillan."  
>"He's an old man, John. Don't drag him into this. How old is he, 50?"<br>"48."  
>"Come on...don't get the poor man involved in this mess...do you want him to die? Just leave him be."<br>"It's either him or waiting for me to get better. You...are not going to tail Light."  
>"Why are you treating me like a child? I can take care of myself."<br>"Look...I don't want to see you die...Penber already died...I don't want to lose you too. You two are like family to me."  
>Naomi sighed.<br>"Fine. I'll wait for you to get better. Then...we can get the second note together."  
>The wounded soldier felt a heavy burden lifted from his heart...his breath became unconstricted, and he felt his gut uncoil from its former tightened state.<br>"Thanks, Naomi. I appreciate it."  
>He clicked the connection shut, a soft smile playing on his lips.<p>

Meanwhile...  
>In the investigation headquarters, Ryo was telling Shijuro about the details of the SAS captain's daring retrieval of the first Death Note.<br>"We got some good news and sime bad news, Chief...Price-Taicho pulled through for us. He got the first note, and it's been safely destroyed."  
>"Sounds good...what's the bad news?"<br>"The old man broke his right leg...he jumped from the second story window. I actually feel sorry for the poor guy."  
>Shijuro sighed.<br>"We need to move along without him..."  
>"And how, exactly, do YOU plan to do that? You aren't exactly a stealthy person. Six feet, two-hundred-fifty pounds, forty-nine years old...build of a Sumo wrestler..."<br>"Hey! I'm not fat!"  
>"Keep thinking that. Maybe all the positive thoughts will make you lose weight."<br>"Grrrr..."  
>"Moving on. We know that the second note isn't in the same location as the first. It might be in the hands of Kiyomi Takada, Light's girlfriend and big-time Kira fangirl. Her residence...is a high-rise apartment in urban Tokyo. Not an easy break-in by any standards. We need to go undercover...maybe maintenance guys or something..."<br>"That plan has a few holes in it. If we're maintenance, how do we explain the fact that only her apartment needs to be looked at?"  
>"How about...tech support? I could mess up her Wi-Fi...drop a flyer at the doorstep...put a Google Voice number on it...she'll call us. She lives with her father, who apparently works a normal office-hours job."<br>"And how will we search the apartment for the Death Note without her noticing?"  
>"Uhh...maybe...distract her with your amazing people skills?"<br>Shijuro groaned.  
>"Hey...don't complain. You never suggested a better plan."<br>"I suppose I'll go with yours...we'll both go, then?"  
>"Mmhm. I'm a new intern. Name's Yamamoto Isshin. You're my supervisor, Ryuuken Yamada."<br>"Okay then...why are we using an alias over an alias?"  
>"Because quite a few people might know you as Shijuro Asahi, Chief of Police, rather than Ryuuken Yamada, tech-support supervisor."<br>"Makes sense..."  
>"My plans always make sense."<br>"...cocky kid..." Shijuro grumbled under his breath.  
>"I heard that, you know."<br>The husky police chief just growled.  
> <p>


	27. Chapter 27

-  
>Chapter 26<br>Theme: The Prodigy-Fire  
>Ninja'd<p>"Here it is, Ryo...call me when you're ready to go."<br>"Thanks for the ride, Asahi-San."  
>"Mhm. Stay safe, Ryo."<br>Ryo hopped out of Shijuro's black Lancer, striding jauntily to the apartment building. He used the old "waiting for a friend in the lobby" trick; it worked once again.  
>The charcoal-haired geek shook his head...people were really stupid sometimes.<br>He pulled the bright-yellow custom-built computer from his jacket pocket, adjusting its antenna until he picked up a Wi-Fi network named "Takada Residence".  
>Too easy.<br>And it wasn't even secured; this was a piece of cake.  
>Ryo connected and logged into the router, adjusting the settings to kick off all the currently-connected devices other than his modded retro Walkman with a MAC address ban.<br>That, right there, was known in the hacking community as "getting pwned."  
>And now...to drop the leaflets.<br>He went up to the third floor, placing leaflets in front of every door, and left the apartment.  
>Stage one was complete.<br>Now for stage two.  
>In a few days, Yasuo Takada called the number on the card.<br>Ryo picked up.  
>"Hello, Hi-Tech Computer Services, how can I assist you?" He said in his clearest, most formal Japanese.<br>"I have a problem with my Internet. It isn't working."  
>"Can you describe in greater detail?"<br>"Ahh...I don't know too much about computers. I think it's the router. Could you send someone to diagnose it?"  
>"Very well then. What time would you like us to come?"<br>"Can you come after six?"  
>"No...I'm sorry, only nine-to-five on weekdays."<br>"Oh...okay then. How about 3 P.M. on..."  
>There was some distant chatter on the other side of the line; Ryo guessed that it was Yasuo talking to Kiyomi.<br>"Uhh...Tuesday?"  
>"That will be fine. We won't charge you if we can't fix it."<br>"Thank you very much. My daughter really needs it fixed for her journalism class."  
>"And...your name and address?"<br>"Yasuo Takada, Apartment 7492 Sakura St, Tokyo."  
>"Thank you. Will you be present at the appointment time?"<br>"No...my daughter, Kiyomi, will be there."  
>"Alright. That's all the information we need. Thank you for calling Hi-Tech Computer Services."<br>Ryo hung up and looked at Shijuro with an impish twinkle in his eyes.  
>"Ryo-Kun...this seems a little wrong..."<br>"Whaddya mean, wrong? Which is worse, Kira or rummaging through some girl's stuff?"  
>"Well...if you put it that way, it's the lesser of two evils...but..."<br>"But what? Don't tell me you're chickening out on this, Chief."  
>"I'm not...it's just...this doesn't feel right."<br>"Don't get all touchy-feely on me. I'm doing this, with your participation or without. And...I'll need you to serve as a diversion."  
>"We didn't agree on that."<br>"Yes, we did. You said you'd keep her attention while I looked for the Death Note."  
>"But how?"<br>"Figure it out. You're the guy who's all macho-macho. You can probably handle her pretty well, if you get my drift."  
>"That wasn't what I was thinking of."<br>"What were you thinking of, then? Explaining how the router works? You don't even know. I'd have to teach you..and you'd have to remember what I told you, and slash or fudge together an explanation to every bloody question she has. It's much easier to be roguishly handsome...something you already have plenty of experience with."  
>Shijuro still looked apprehensive.<br>"Hey, listen. I'll be through her stuff in a matter of minutes. Do whatever you have to, just keep her attention entirely diverted away from me or where I'm going. They most likely have more than one computer, and I'm almost certain that Takada's will be in her room. If my experience with families is anywhere near accurate, they will have a Playstation or something of the sort in the living room that connects to the Internet...maybe even a full-blown media-center computer. They're pretty well-off, so it isn't unrealistic. If you run out of shiny things to distract her with, just go to each computer or wireless device and flick through the network settings...write down the MAC address, while you're at it...change some things, but make sure to return them to their original states before closing the settings windows."  
>"Where do you get all these ideas, Ryo?"<br>The black-haired kid smirked devilishly, tapping his forehead with a crooked index finger.  
>"It's all in here. Ya know, when you get an evil or cruel idea, you usually suppress it. What I do...I catalogue them, just in case I need to retaliate against some asshole or idiot...always prepared."<br>"Wonderful. I'll make a mental note to never piss you off."  
>"Oh, I wouldn't do anything like that to you, Asahi-San. I like you too much." The smirk on Ryo's face softened into an admiring smile.<br>"That's comforting..."  
>A few days later, after Ryo "acquired" two IT company uniforms, the two went on-site.<br>"God damn it, Ryo. This shirt is tight."  
>"Best I could find...apparently everyone at that place is a skinny nerd."<br>Ryo was wearing a neon-orange cotton printed-logo t-shirt, as was Shijuro. However, Ryo's was fairly loose and relaxed, while Shijuro's shirt was quite tight, fitting uncomfortably to his body.  
>"And look on the bright side...it's a bit more interesting than that bloody boring dress shirt you wear every single day."<br>Shijuro just sighed as he pulled into the building's parking lot, magnetic sticker attached to his car's door.  
>They went up the elevator; the doorman apparently had too short a memory to remember Ryo from four or five days ago in a different outfit.<br>"Here's the door...you knock, Yamada-San."  
>"All right, Isshin-Kun."<br>The older man knocked on the door, which was promptly opened by Kiyomi Takada, second Kira suspect.  
>Ryo flinched when he saw Rem floating behind the girl, but quickly recovered and kept his cool.<br>"Hello. I'm Yamamoto Isshin."  
>"And I'm Ryuuken Yamada...his supervisor. We're here for the 3 o'clock network repair appointment you requested with us."<br>"Oh, come in, come in!" The teen enthused.  
>The Takada residence seemed to be fairly plush...a two-bedroom apartment with a spacious living room and a kitchen overlooking it.<br>"So...where's the computer?" Ryo asked.  
>"Oh, just wait a second...we plugged it into the TV. Here's the keyboard."<br>She handed Ryo a slim wireless keyboard with a trackpad built in, and turned the plasma TV on.  
>"So...the problem is, it doesn't connect to the Wi-Fi."<br>"I see. Alright then...I'll try to determine whether it's a problem with the network or with your computers."  
>Ryo pulled his Thinkpad from his slim black messenger bag, opening it up and sitting on the couch.<br>"I presume Takada Residence is yours?"  
>"Yes...that's it."<br>"Uh. Yamada-San. I need a bit of help here."  
>That was the hacker's indication to the thick-set police chief that he needed a diversion, and fast.<br>The cop sat down next to Ryo, leaning over the laptop.  
>Kiyomi's interest was piqued, so she leaned in as well.<br>"Here you go, Isshin-Kun. It isn't a problem with the network."  
>Shijuro just clicked on a batch file Ryo had pre-made, which spat up an impressive-looking command-line; all it did was check that the Internet connection was working.<br>"Ah...I should've known...thanks, Yamada-Sensei."  
>Shijuro handed the laptop back to its rightful owner, who gladly accepted it.<br>"Now...let's see."  
>He typed in the address for the router, and typed in the default username and password combination, unblocking the living-room computer, but not the others.<br>"Okay...this computer should be working now..."  
>He clicked open the connections window, reconnecting to the wireless network; it worked, as expected.<br>"Oh, thank you so much!" Kiyomi said chirpily.  
>"Uh...no problem!" Ryo answered, rubbing his neck to keep up the facade of a shy computer geek.<br>"Could you do the same with the other computers?"  
>"Of course...but...there's something..."<br>"What?"  
>"I need to go to the bathroom."<br>"Oh! No problem. It's right over there."  
>She pointed the room out to Ryo, who smiled awkwardly and shuffled off, leaving Shijuro to deal with Kiyomi.<br>"So...my dad's computer is over there. Do you need to...go over there to fix it?"  
>"Mhm."<br>"It's right in this room."  
>Kiyomi led the husky police officer into her father's bedroom and home office.<br>"So...this is it. I'll log you in."  
>She typed in the password, leaning over Shijuro's shoulder. He followed the same steps Ryo took on the other computer, except that he didn't unblock the address first. He put on a false mask of surprise when it didn't work.<br>"Well, that's odd. Let's see here."  
>He pulled out Ryo's laptop, slipping his thumb over the fingerprint scanner to login.<br>Shijuro took his time adjusting the router's settings, buying Ryo plenty of time to look through Kiyomi's bedroom and belongings.  
>After about five minutes, Shijuro gave up on the act, and fixed the problem, unbanning Yasuo's computer.<br>"There we go. I swear, every year they make this software tougher to use."  
>"Oh, well, all that matters is that you got it fixed, right?"<br>"I suppose that's correct. Are there any other computers that need fixing?"  
>"Oh, there's the MacBook in my room, and there's the Playstation."<br>"Let's work on the Playstation first."  
>"Okay...you know how to use it?"<br>"Of course. My son has one."  
>Kiyomi handed him the slick black controller, and he pushed the Playstation button, starting the console up with a flicker of LEDs and whirring of fans.<br>Once the menu came up, he tried connecting to Wi-Fi again; naturally, it didn't work. To buy Ryo more time, he went through the settings, looking for the MAC address. Once he found it, he noted it down carefully, and messed about with the router settings for another five minutes, before finally removing the block on the game console.  
>By now, Ryo had taken about fifteen minutes to scour Kiyomi's room for the Death Note.<br>"There. So...the last computer is in your room?"  
>"Yeah. Lemme go get it for you."<br>Ryo heard this through the drywall, and started getting nervous. He hadn't found the Death Note. It must have been extremely well-hidden...where could it be? He didn't have any time left to search.  
>As the footsteps neared the door, Ryo focused all of his mental capacity on concealing his presence in the room.<br>Kiyomi opened the door and picked her laptop off the table, not even noticing Ryo, who stood a few feet away, in a darker corner of the room.  
>Under the laptop...that was it!<br>There was a square section of the table that was slightly lower than the rest of the wooden surface.  
>Ryo felt under the table, finding a tiny hole in the otherwise-smooth wood.<br>He poked a pen ink cartridge into the hole, raising up the flat piece of plywood easily. A small, black notebook was revealed.  
>The black-haired hacker slid it into the only convenient place he could think of: behind the papers on his clipboard, which was hooked onto his belt.<br>He slinked back into the bathroom, flushed the toilet, and opened the door noisily.  
>"Sorry about that...what happened?"<br>Shijuro glared at him from behind the screen of Kiyomi's MacBook.  
>"I did everything you were supposed to do, Isshin. I'll have a word with you when we get back to the shop..."<br>"Ah! I'm sorry! I was constipated!"  
>Shijuro growled.<br>"Incompetent baka..."  
>He closed Kiyomi's MacBook, smiling at her cheerily.<br>"There we go. It's all fixed up, good as new."  
>"Oh, thank you so much!"<br>"Yes...here's the bill..."  
>He pulled an empty form from his pocket and filled in the details of the repair, writing 4000 yen for the price...which, if Ryo's memory served him correctly, was about $50. Not bad for about 45 minutes of IT work. But way too little for recovering the second Death Note.<br>As they exited hastily yet politely, Shijuro glanced at Ryo from behind his slim glasses.  
>When they were both within the relative privacy of their car, Ryo broke into a wide grin.<br>"Guess what I got?" he said in a sing-song voice.  
>"A punch in the gut?"<br>"Better."  
>"The Death Note, right?"<br>"You guessed it, boss."  
>Shijuro's face broke into a wrinkled smile.<br>"I can't even tell...if this is real or just a dream. Damn it...if this is a dream, it's the best dream I've ever had."  
>"Oh, no need to thank me. Thank Price-Taicho. He's the one who was tailing Light and Kiyomi...along with..."<br>"Penber..."  
>"Still...it was worth the struggle, wasn't it?"<br>"Sure as hell was. God damn it, Ryo. You're incredible. I literally owe you my life."  
>"No you don't. I owe you mine...saved my ass back there."<br>"Let's consider the debt settled, then?"  
>"Fair by me." <p>


	28. Chapter 28

-  
>Chapter 27<br>Unforeseen Consequences  
>Theme: SID-Melody<p>Light had rummaged through his entire room, looking for the Death Note.<br>"Damn it, where is that thing? I told Ryuk to guard it! Lazy bastard...he must have went off to steal some apples...but why didn't he come back?"  
>The auburn-haired teen gritted his teeth...Kiyomi had lost hers, as well. He needed just one note...as it was, he only had a small piece of it on him...he could barely write a single name on the scrap of paper he kept hidden inside his watch.<br>He couldn't believe it...the world stopped rotating around Kira. Around him.  
>Day by day, the news reports of Kira deaths dwindled down to nothing. His power...his empire, the perfect world he'd built for himself...it crumbled like a child's hard-built sand castle washed away by the rising tide.<br>All that work. All that effort. All he'd ever wanted to do was make the world a better place...why couldn't anyone understand?  
>He had everything...and now he'd lost it all.<br>It was an empty, gaping hole in his heart. The power had torn him apart, leaving nothing but Kira. Light was a thin shell, flimsy, about to break...to shatter. Kira had been getting stronger by the day...but now, it was deprived of its source of nutrition, its only strength, like sunlight for a flowering plant.  
>Kira was wilting...and so did Light fade away with it.<br>He never realized that life had second chances, had more in store than death and cold justice...the perfect world had eaten away at all he had been.  
>Ultimately, he'd suffered more from this than anyone else had.<br>Only fitting, he thought.  
>A heart attack really wasn't that bad, was it? An easy way out.<br>But so cowardly, so dishonorable.  
>He had to tell them, explain it to them...to Sayu, Sachiko. Soichiro. His father. They all...deserved to know.<br>He wrote a brief note.  
>A death note, of sorts.<br>He signed his name, and then copied it neatly, in his beautiful, clean calligraphy.  
>As the last stroke of ink hit the paper, he looked down at his watch.<br>Thirty-nine...thirty-eight...  
>The seconds felt like minutes.<br>The ticking of his pocket watch was loud...it was incredibly loud...it thudded in his ears...he was reminded of a story he read.  
>The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allen Poe.<br>He smiled slightly, a real smile...a light smile; it was the first time a genuine smile had appeared on his lips in months...ever since he'd gotten the Death Note.  
>It was a curse and a blessing. A double-edged sword. Elegantly lethal.<br>As the watch ticked, his heart throbbed.  
>Three...<br>Two...  
>One...<br>His heart stopped, warm red blood no longer lighting his face.  
>But of course, his family could live without him.<br>They had to.

Light Yagami, July 21, 2011, approx. 6:30 P.M.  
>Cause of Death: Acute heart failure.<p>

That was what the coroner's report said.  
>Cold, analytical, emotionless.<br>Soichiro's emotions when he saw Light...his son...his beloved, bright son, in a heap on the ground in his room...  
>They were beyond description.<br>"Light!" He shouted, diving at his son's stiff, motionless form, desperately attempting to shake him awake, cradling him in his arms, as if his body's warmth might miraculously bring him back from the dead.  
>There was no pulse, no heartbeat.<br>The bright auburn eyes that had once been so lively, so vivid, were dead, lifeless, to be forever covered by pallid lids.  
>"Light...no...please...wake up...please...this was all a dream...wasn't it...Light...my son...Raito-Kun...please...it's Soichiro...your father...it's your dad...wake up..."<br>He broke into tears of grief, sobbing against his son's stiff, cold, unresponsive body.  
>This was wrong...so wrong. How could he outlive his son? Why? What cruel trick of the fates was this?<br>Everything else was a blur. The ambulance, filling out the death certificate...the funeral...lighting incense...the little candles...a memorial...it was always there...a little prayer was said every evening for the sake of Light's soul...a tiny sunbeam breaking through the blinding darkness of the bleak world he was in now.

When Ichirou heard the news, he did a double-take. Was Light Yagami really dead? A heart attack? It couldn't have been Kira...no...not...suicide?  
>He didn't want to think of the possibility.<br>As Ichirou typed up Light's eulogy, he decided to portray him as a young hero...someone who died trying to stop Kira.  
>And it was true.<br>Light Yagami had ultimately died to stop Kira.  
>He was as much a hero as Ray Penber.<br>The auburn-haired teen at least deserved to be remembered as a hero...not a villain.  
>The truth...would die with a handful of people who'd sworn an oath, written in blood, sweat, and tears.<br>Nobody would tell a single soul about the reality of what Kira's identity was.  
>Johnathan Price.<br>Naomi Misora.  
>Ichirou Carson.<br>Soichiro Yagami.  
>L Lawliet.<br>Quillish Wammy.  
>All of them swore; L even showed his face and revealed his real name to the other five, apologizing for any undue duress he caused.<br>The matter was buried, as Light Yagami was.  
>Every one of them went to his funeral, solemnly remembering the one person who brought them all together, from across the globe, to Tokyo.<br>They always kept in touch, sometimes even meeting face-to-face; whenever one of them travelled overseas, they made a point of visiting one or more of their friends.  
>For the next several years, they remained close. <p>


	29. Chapter 29

-  
>Chapter 28<br>Theme: Burnout OST-16 Years On  
>Ichirou and Soichiro<p>Five years after the events of that summer, Ichirou was still living in Japan. He'd finished college at To-Oh University, and accepted an internship at Sony Computer Entertainment. Quickly enough, he was a junior developer, working on the Playstation 3's system software. His dad had opened a medical clinic of his own; his mother was promoted to the title of head librarian.<p>

Soichiro kept his title as Chief of Police of Tokyo; however, gray streaks had begun to show in his previously uniformly brown hair. He still dressed the same, acted the same, and mostly looked the same; however, he was considering retirement...maybe in a few years. He remained especially close to Aizawa, Mogi, Ukita, and Matsuda, as well as Ichirou and his family.

Tokyo, Japan.  
>June 18th, 2016, 2:45 P.M.<p>

Ichirou was sitting at his desk, poring over page after page of code. He adjusted his glasses, frowning as he noticed and corrected a mistyped variable.  
>Unexpectedly, his cellphone rang. He checked the caller ID; it was Soichiro Yagami. They were still very close friends, but had grown a bit distant when Ryo took the job with Sony...he just didn't have any time for socializing right now.<br>"Hello, Yagami-San! Great to hear your voice."  
>"Yeah, yours too, Ichirou. Listen...could you do me a favor?"<br>"Anything for an old friend. Ask away."  
>"I need your opinion on something. Do you think it's a good idea to...get all of us together for a visit? You know...John, Naomi..."<br>"It crossed my mind a few days ago...it's a great idea; thr only problem is, I barely have time off from my job, so I might not be able to come."  
>"What days do you have off?"<br>Ichirou glanced at his calendar; next week he could take the weekend off if he worked his ass off...  
>"Maybe...next week? If I pull an all-nighter or two, I might be able to get an actual legitimate weekend."<br>"Lemme check with the others...we might be able to work it out. I'll call you back later."  
>"Yeah...see ya then, Soichiro."<br>He flipped his phone shut, gulping down the last of his energy drink, and tossing the empty can into the trash.

Meanwhile, in the police station, the investigators were moping over a mandatory day-off.  
>Matsuda had been promoted to head investigator, which was surprising for his young age-he was only 30, and already outranked Shuichi Aizawa, who was his second-in-command. The young man showed remarkable leadership skills; a few years earlier, he had been hailed a national hero for his bravery in sneaking into a bank which was being held up by Yakuza gangsters, and turning the tables on the criminals. When Soichiro heard of this, Matsuda became his immediate choice to succeed him as Chief of Police.<br>"Listen, guys. It's not that bad. You'll get to see your families, take a few days off, rest a bit, maybe hit the beach..." Matsuda tried to suppress the murmuring complaint that was spreading through the group of investigators.  
>Some of the younger investigators perked at this last remark.<br>"This seems a bit pointless, Soichiro. There're a few cases that we still haven't wrapped up...can't this wait?" Aizawa protested.  
>"If you're willing to personally take command of the remaining investigators while I'm gone, you may continue working on whatever cases are left." Soichiro replied calmly. Age had mellowed him a bit; he gave Aizawa and Matsuda quite a bit of trust and a significant degree of control over department affairs.<br>"Thank you, sir. I'll make sure to keep things running smoothly while you're gone." The investigative team's Lieutenant answered.  
>"All right then...any other questions? ...No? Let's get back to work."<br>The crowd of investigators dissipated, each returning to his task.  
> <p>


	30. Chapter 30

-  
>Chapter 29<br>Theme: UVERWorld-Colors Of The Heart  
>John and Naomi<p>

Somewhere in Afghanistan, near the Russian border.  
>June 19th, 2016, 0200 hours.<p>

John Price was asleep on a small cot, dressed in his full combat gear. He was in an Afghan army encampment on the Russian border, sent there by the SAS to train the volatile country's military in advanced combat tactics.  
>He didn't have to go; he could have retired comfortably with the fat paycheck L supplied him as a reward for stopping Kira.<br>But he still felt a need, an urge to do something...teach, train, watch someone learning and growing under his care...he wanted to be a father.  
>Kate never gave him that chance...he'd tried reconciling with her, but it didn't work out. It hurt his pride to beg, to plead. But that was what he did. He went to a psychological assessment, and was deemed stable enough to be around children.<br>He could see his children...once every six months, for a couple of weeks. They didn't even recognize him at first...didn't remember him. But he remembered them, very much so. And...despite their initial unfamiliarity towards him, they quickly warmed to the affection and gentle caring the aging man displayed. They always asked about him...always wanted to see him now.  
>James loved playing with little green soldiers ...he pretended that one of them, the one with the beret, represented his father on his imaginary field of war.<br>"He's really, really brave, and fights bad guys, like you do, Daddy. He wears a soldier hat too, just like you!" That was how James had introduced the tiny plastic figure to his father about a year and a half ago; John still remembered the admiring grin on his son's face as he looked up at his father, glinting green eyes seeking approval from his father's worn, lined face.  
>Sandy, on the other hand, was a bit more mature, and loved hearing her father's stories of adventure and close calls on the front lines. She was growing to be quite the tomboy; the golden-haired girl loved to play football, and was the team captain on her school's team.<br>Naomi...he hadn't heard from her for a couple of months. She was still in the FBI, as far as he knew. He had to remember to call her, one of these days...see how she was doing.  
>The soldiers he was working with...they were bright, fresh-faced young men in their early twenties. New recruits who had never seen combat. He was initially seen as an outsider, a foreigner, and was treated with distrust. Once he began speaking the local language of Farsi, sleeping in the same bunks as the troops did, eating the same foods as they did, encouraging the soldiers to address him by his Arabic nickname of Abu-Tha'lab...he became much closer to the troops. His nickname had an interesting story behind it...one day, one of the new recruits found an injured gray fox; he gave it to Price to take care of, and thus the captain became known as Abu-Tha'lab, or "Father of the fox."<br>Most of the younger soldiers admired the bearded captain; he was strong and forceful in combat, yet kind and understanding towards his subordinates. He was respected as one of their elders would be; however, he'd never be truly one of them. The gray-green eyes and light-brown hair said that he was a foreigner...not one of the locals. He had a distinct accent when he spoke Farsi. He still hadn't learned the intricacies of Afghani culture; his explosive nature was counter-productive in this area of the world. In Iraq or another Arab country, it might get him somewhere, especially with his intimidating physical presence. However, in Afghanistan, he was forced to learn how to control his short temper.  
>His deployment here was almost over. Only a week or two remained until he was to be flown back to the UK. He'd try to make the time he had count...<br>John woke with a start as he heard a strangely familiar ringing in his right ear.  
>He looked around for the source of the noisy disruption.<br>His sat-phone was off...it wasn't the alarm clock...what was it?  
>He tried to plug his ears; it was useless. He still heard the noise. It was...an implant...the transceiver from the Kira case...<br>He pushed at the bone behind his right ear, causing the connection to open.  
>"Hello...?" He growled sleepily.<br>"Price-San...it's Ichirou. How are you doing?"  
>"I'm in Afghanistan right now...eh, fine."<br>"Whatcha doing over there?"  
>"Training th' local soldiers...learned Farsi...I'm doin' pretty well...they're learnin' quick."<br>"You sound sleepy, man. Did I wake you up?"  
>"Yeah. It's not a prob'm though."<br>"Okay...I'll make this quick. We were thinking of maybe meeting up again-you, me, Soichiro, Naomi-in Tokyo in a few weeks' time. Can you make it?"  
>"Yeah. I think so. I'll be back in the UK in a week or so...I could go."<br>"Perfect, that's great. I'll tell Yagami-San."  
>"Is Naomi coming?"<br>"I haven't asked her yet..."  
>"I'll call her."<br>"Fine by me...good luck out there, Price-Taicho. Come home safely. We all miss ya."  
>"I will, don't worry. G'bye, son."<br>"Bye, Price-Taicho."  
>The device beeped as he hung up.<br>The bearded captain sighed, running a hand over his short, graying brown hair.

Los Angeles, California  
>June 20, 2016, 2100 hours.<p>

Naomi Misora tossed her messenger bag aside casually, kicking her sneakers off and sighing. She'd just come home from an excruciating day at work investigating a major serial killer, and all she wanted to do right now was shower, eat a nice, hot dinner, maybe watch the news, and sleep.  
>The Japanese-American FBI agent still hadn't gotten into a full-blown relationship after Penber's death...however, there was a certain agent whom she was enamored with, and wanted to ask out at some point...<br>But that didn't really weigh too heavily on her mind right now. She went into the kitchen, tossed an instant meal into the microwave oven, and set the timer for five minutes.  
>Naomi ran a hand through her straight black hair, and looked around her apartment. There were so many things to be done...and she never had the time to do any of them. The cabinet door was squeaking, the lightbulb in the fridge had gone out, and the CD case holder in the TV stand needed repairs, stat.<br>Naomi looked under the sink for a can of WD-40, dripping a drop or two of the mechanical lubricant on the hinge of the squeaky cabinet, and wiping the excess off with a paper towel.  
>It was still squeaking.<br>Just then, the microwave's timer dinged to indicate that her instant meal was ready to eat.  
>She scoffed in frustration, and tossed the paper towel into the trash. Then, she washed her hands, grabbed the meal from the microwave, and sat down on her drab couch to eat it while catching up on the latest news.<br>As the FBI agent flipped the TV on, a digital ringing in her right ear startled her.  
>She put the plastic tray containing her dinner on the couch besides her, and looked around for the source of the disturbance.<br>It sounded like it was right inside her ear...it didn't have a distinct source.  
>Suddenly, she remembered the Kira case...L had supplied her with an implant, and she'd never removed it...who could this be? L? John? She hoped it was the latter rather than the former.<br>Naomi pressed on the bony area behind her right ear, activating the tiny device.  
>"Hello? Who's this?"<br>"Naomi...it's me, John...John Price."  
>"John?"<br>She hadn't heard from the graying soldier in a couple of months...she'd started worrying about him as soon as he said he was being deployed to Afghanistan to train local troops. That had been about six months ago; he'd been calling her weekly until about two months back.  
>"Yeah, it's me. I'm still alive, if that's what you're wondering." His voice sounded a bit hoarse, as if he'd been shouting at someone.<br>"Oh, god. I've been so worried about you, John. Haven't heard from you in...two months...I thought you were dead. How...how are things going?"  
>"I'm doing pretty well, myself. We had an Ultranationalist attack this morning...my Afghani lads did damn well fighting off those Russian bastards. I'm proud of 'em."<br>"So...when are you going back?"  
>"Next week...by the end of this month I should be in the UK."<br>"That's...that's great..."  
>"It is. I'll be visiting my kids...heh. James is obsessed with toy soldiers. He has one...with a beret. Keeps sayin' he's just like me..."<br>"Yeah...you told me...James is the younger one, right?"  
>"Mmhm. He's...ten now. Still my little baby boy, though."<br>"How have the last two months been?"  
>"Chaotic. We had an Ultranationalist attack team hitting us every week...they made great live-fire training targets. Only lost a few men over the whole two months. They lost...prob'ly over two hundred."<br>"Wow...that's a lot..." Naomi's voice showed quiet awe and reverence.  
>"Yeah. Just last week, we did a big-time op. Nailed over fifty of those Russians...they didn't even see it coming. These guys...I think I've trained 'em to be almost as good in the field as SAS...and definitely better than Spetsnaz."<br>"That's amazing..."  
>"It is, yeah. I'm real proud of my lads."<br>"So...any other news from the front?  
>"Well...Ichirou called me...said they were planning a get-together in Tokyo in a couple of weeks. Just the four of us...you, me, Ichirou, Soichiro. I thought I'd tell you myself."<br>"So...early July, then? You'll be there, right?"  
>"Of course. Wouldn't miss it for the world."<br>"If you're going, then I'm definitely going."  
>"Alright then, good. I miss seeing all of you."<br>"Stay safe, John...please."  
>"Don't worry 'bout me. I'll be fine."<br>"That's good to hear. I'll see you then, I guess."  
>"Mmhm. Listen, Naomi, I have to go...we have a few hostiles incoming. Say hi to Ichirou for me...tell him you're gonna be comin' to this reunion."<br>"I will. Stay safe."  
>"Yeah. Bye."<br>The link clicked shut.  
>(Wow...that's...I don't even know what to think. I...guess it's good news. John's all right...Ichirou and Soichiro are doing fine...going to Japan again...it sounds great...I guess I should call Ichirou and tell him...)<br>She thought for a moment before dialing the coder's number. It was 9 P.M. here, so in Tokyo...it'd be 1 P.M. He'd probably be at work right now. It might be a better idea to call him later...  
>Naomi decided to put off calling Ichirou for tomorrow morning. He'd be more likely to be available then...<br>When Naomi woke up bright and early at 6:30, she called Ichirou first thing in the morning.  
>It was around ten-thirty in the evening for the Japanese-American programmer; he'd almost certainly be available.<br>Sure enough, Ichirou picked up by the third ring.  
>"Hey, Naomi. What's up?"<br>"I heard you guys were having a sort of reunion or something...John told me to ask you about it."  
>"Yeah, that. It's gonna be on July 14th through the 16th...a two-day stay. Me and Yagami-San will cover for you guys if there're any problems getting a hotel or such."<br>"So...why now?"  
>"Eh...I dunno. Just wanted to celebrate five years together as friends...thought it might be a good way to get back together, catch up. Yagami-San likes the idea...Price-Taicho seems pretty enthusiastic...I think you'll like it as well."<br>"That's why I was calling...I'll be coming too, you know."  
>"Well, great then! That leaves only L and Watari-San...and for some reason, I don't think they'll be coming."<br>"Yeah...it's too bad. But still, look on the bright side. At least we're all doing fine."  
>"Mmhm. How's good ol' Price-Taicho doing? He didn't tell me too much when we talked."<br>"Well...I suppose he's doing well. Said his troops were learning well, that they were almost as good as SAS. He's learned Farsi..."  
>"You do know that's one of the hardest languages to learn, right? Up there with Chinese."<br>"Actually, I didn't...that's pretty impressive."  
>"I never thought a guy like him'd be bilingual..."<br>"Trilingual. He speaks Russian fluently."  
>"Huh...wow. He'll have to teach me one of these days..."<br>"Mmhm...so how're you doing, Ichirou? How's work?"  
>"Eh...it's a pain. I've pulled a few all-night coding sessions...but I'm managing. Hopefully I'm getting promoted soon. Crap...my boss is calling. I'll get back to ya later, bye."<br>Naomi sighed, flipping her phone shut, and getting ready to leave for work. 


	31. Chapter 31

-  
>Chapter 30<br>Theme: Orange Range-Asterisk  
>Reunion<p>A few weeks later, Naomi, Price, Soichiro, Ichirou, and Matsuda were all sitting in Ichirou's small living room, the soldier regaling the younger ones with one of his war stories as they listened attentively, not wanting to miss a word.<br>"...and then, Captain MacMillan got shot in the legs by a sniper; I had to carry him all the way to the extraction point. And that wasn't the worst of it...not by a long shot. Once we got extracted and were almost to the base, someone hit the Pave-Low with a Stinger missile. It was a bloody close call...the heli was burning, tail rotor was out, we were in a tailspin...I still remember, I was holding onto old man Ross, trying to make sure we didn't get split up when it crashed. Fortunately, though, it was a soft landing...hit some trees right outside base, and we only fell about three, four meters. I broke a couple o' ribs back there, and my right arm. MacMillan was fine, the pilot had broken his right leg, and got some nasty scrapes from the glass and metal."  
>"Wow...that's insane!" Matsuda murmured in awe.<br>"Not really...just bloody painful."  
>Soichiro spoke up this time.<br>"Here's another story. There was this one time...back when I was a young officer..."  
>"I think I know how this one goes..." Ichirou said under his breath.<br>"...and I was going with the rest of the squad to investigate a report of gunshots. When we got to the apartment, the police captain knocked on the door. The guy who opened it...he had a katana, and was splattered all over with blood. The guy was wearing a white gi and blue hakama; he looked like a samurai, in a way. The captain asked him to drop his weapon...instead, he stabbed Kensei-Sensei in the chest; the sword missed his heart by centimeters, the doctors said. Then he slammed the door. Kensei-Taicho was out of action, and I was the lieutenant, so I took command. I breached the door, took point...he ambushed me, slashed me down the left side of my body before I shot him in the head. That's where...this came from." Soichiro said, as he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, revealing a white scar that ran down his left shoulder.  
>"So THAT'S why you said you'd never watch 'The Twilight Samurai' with me, huh?" Ichirou wondered aloud.<br>"Yeah. I have a great disliking for anything that reminds me of that event..."  
>"I hear ya, mate. Same thing with me and Russians...been fighting those bloody Russian Ultranationalists for practically forever. You guys all know that I've been deployed to Afghanistan, right?"<br>A nod of affirmation went through the listeners.  
>"Well, back in the Cold War, Afghanistan was very much against the Soviets, and they were heavily supported by the United States and other Western forces. When the Cold War ended, you still had some Russians who bore grudges against Afghanistan and the West. In recent years, those groups have become more and more violent and influential...and they've begun attacking Afghani border villages and military installations. Of course, we couldn't just sit back and watch our allies get pounded, could we? That's why I was deployed to Afghanistan. My job was to train new recruits and get them into fighting shape, so they'd be ready to take on Ultranationalist attackers. Of course, it wasn't exactly peace and quiet. The encampment I was stationed in was near the Afghani-Russian border. Every few days, we got attacked. By the time I left, we had gone through about two hundred Russian attackers. It was a bloody nightmare. Every goddamn time I hear a word in Russian, I expect to get shot at."<br>"On the bright side...you don't hear too much Russian here, do you?" Ichirou asked.  
>"Remember that cafe you met me at to give me intel?"<br>"Yeah..."  
>"The music that was playing there?"<br>"Uh-huh? What about it?"  
>"It. Was. Bloody. Russian." Price said, his forehead furrowing slightly.<br>"Ah! I didn't know! I'm sorry! You aren't mad at me, are you?"  
>"No. Just making an observation, that's all." He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms, his features relaxing.<br>"Hey...Matsuda..." Soichiro shoved the younger investigator slightly, as he seemed a bit distracted.  
>"Hm? What is it?" He mumbled.<br>"How bout you tell us about that time you stopped the bank hold-up, Matsuda?" Ichirou asked.  
>Naomi's eyes widened slightly as she heard the handsome young investigator's name mentioned, and she looked him over a bit more thoroughly, this time with the eyes of a normal person, rather than those of an FBI agent.<br>His outer appearance was rather neat and tidy...Slick jet-black hair, combed smoothly to the side, with a few strands dangling over his forehead. Soft, understated features, but with a few wrinkles that showed a bit of experience. Bright, lively brown eyes. A slight smile that turned into a dimpled grin when it widened just enough. His teeth were a clean white...but not an artificial white. There was a difference.  
>He had a rather light build, but Naomi guessed that the young investigator had a well-toned body...muscled, but not bulky.<br>She barely noticed him talking...all she saw was the patterns in which his lips moved; the way he moved his hands when he wanted to describe something; how he smiled with his eyes, but never let them narrow into little slits; how he seemed so enthusiastic and yet so polite; the way he was leaned over in his chair, clasping his hands together.  
>Naomi decided that she liked him. Very much so.<br>But did he like her?

As Matsuda entertained Price, Ichirou, and Soichiro with his story of how he snuck in through the ventilation shafts, whacked a few Yakuza upside the head with a cricket bat, and freed dozens of bank employee hostages, he snatched glances at Naomi occasionally.  
>Was she looking at him? He really wanted to impress her...he hoped his English was perfect. He'd been taking courses since college, but he still had a distinct accent. Did she notice? It didn't seem like it...she was still looking at him. When their eyes connected, she looked away with a slight blush on her face.<br>Matsuda mentally fist-pumped. He'd never had good luck with girls, mainly because of his awkward and slightly dopey personality. But now, he'd found someone he liked...and who was apparently interested in him. It couldn't get much better...  
>"Oi, lad. What's with the odd look?" Price questioned, as Matsuda had paused in his story for just a moment too long.<br>"Oh, nothing...just thinking...where was I...?"  
>"Matsuda...something on your mind?" Soichiro asked.<br>"It's nothing, I said."  
>"Cut him some slack, Soichiro. That whole mess must've been really stressful for him, you know." This was said in Naomi's forceful voice, and everyone immediately looked at her, including Matsuda. Price seemed interested in her feisty nature, whilst Soichiro was slightly affronted by the snappy remark, Matsuda was greatly admiring Naomi's gutsy attitude, and Ichirou looked on at the whole scene with mild interest.<br>"Uh. Thanks, Naomi." Matsuda said, blushing slightly and twiddling his thumbs.  
>She just grinned. <p>


End file.
